


What day is it?

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Groundhog Day, M/M, Pining, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-12 07:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13542825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: It's the first day of the semester, and it's already gone to shit: Dan's late to his first class, finds out his mortal enemy, Phil Lester, is the TA, and gets rejected by the girl of his dreams, but at least tomorrow's a new day...right?Aka the one where Dan and Phil are stuck reliving the same day over and over and can't figure out why.(Dan POV)





	1. Day 1

I am awoken by what I can only describe as one of the most horrendous and foreboding noises to ever assault my ears: my fucking alarm.

As I grope across the tiny twin bed, searching for my phone, I swear the ringing gets even louder - by the time my fingers close around the offending device charging on my bedside table, I want to chuck it across the room. I settle for hitting snooze.

Which is how, thirty minutes and five snoozes later, I end up tugging on a pair of jeans and rushing out the door, already late for my first class of the semester.

“Wow, if this is how shit you look on the first day, I’d hate to see what you’ll look by finals week!” I recognize Chris’ voice as I rush past the dorm’s lounge, barely cognizant enough to throw a middle finger and a ‘fuck you’ over my shoulder.

By the time I’m outside the building my lecture is in, I’ve managed to calm down. _It’s the first day, it’s not like I’m missing anything important._ I slip into the auditorium - it’s large, and I’m sure the professor doesn’t even notice as I sneak into an empty seat two rows from the back. Apparently, we’re already going over course content, despite the fact that it’s literally day one; I slump down in the hard plastic chair, scanning the backs of nearby heads. _Maybe I know someone in class who can give me notes later on._

Since I didn’t bring anything with me when I rushed out of the dorm - hell, it’s a miracle I remembered to put on _pants_ \- my gaze bounces around haphazardly, hoping for a distraction that takes place outside my brain.

 _Are you fucking joking._ I let out a small groan, rolling my eyes the moment they catch the unnaturally straight black fringe of the guy sat in the front row - I know he isn’t a student, not for an undergrad English class, which can only mean he’s the TA for the course. _Great, I’ll definitely fail this one, then_.

Phil Lester had been assisting in a course I had last semester, a gen ed I really didn’t want to take but couldn’t avoid, and it was _literally_ his fault that I failed it. Failed it, and ended up having to sit in this damn lecture right now, listening to this stupid professor go on about Romeo and Juliet. _I mean, for fuck’s sake, who hasn’t read Romeo and Juliet?_

Because I have nothing better to do, I decide to bore holes in the back of Phil’s head with my eyes, trying to imbue the stare with as much hatred and loathing as I can. _I swear to fucking god, if he makes me fail again..._ I’m drawn out of my tunnel vision when someone in the room starts speaking.

“I heard that ‘wherefore’ actually means ‘why’, in ancient English or whatever,” a bubbly girl announces, and I can already feel my face scrunching up from secondhand embarrassment. _‘Ancient’ English, jesus_. 

“Yes, that’s correct, I assume you’re referring to the famous line ‘Wherefore art thou, Romeo?’” The professor’s going on, something about Shakespearean English and language for commoners, but I’m back to staring daggers - Phil’s turned around, presumably to locate the girl who’d spoken, and I can’t decide if I want him to notice me or not.

Apparently, I don’t get a choice, because he turns just slightly, and his piercing blue eyes lock with mine. I squint and frown, hoping to convey my general distaste. He looks unruffled, which frustrates me - the only reaction I get is a quick lift of his eyebrows before he returns his attention to the professor. I sit back in a huff, crossing my arms and resigning myself to pretending to listen to the rest of the lecture.

\---------------------------------

After another half hour of a middle-aged man dissecting teenage drama, I’m finally free and heading back toward the dorm - I don’t have another lecture til the afternoon, and I’m really feeling a nap right about now. Not to mention, I need to take some proper time to brood about being stuck in a course with Phil Lester as a TA _again_. I push the front door open and it slams against the wall.

“Oi, careful, don’t need you breaking anything on the first day, mate,” I roll my eyes - Chris is still sat in the lounge, laid diagonally across the couch and staring at his phone.

“Yeah, well, I’ll break whatever I want,” I spit the words out, though I realize how childish they sound only after they’ve left my tongue. He looks up, quirks a brow, then looks back to his phone. “I’m taking a nap,” I announce. Chris just grunts and nods, I assume more from pity than from actually caring.

I wrap a hand around the doorknob to my room - which is a single, fortunately - and push inside, still fuming about my shit luck with this English class.

“Hey!” I pause, stepping back into the hall so I can see where Chris has stuck his head out from the lounge. “PJ just texted me, you up for a beginning-of-the-semester party tonight?” I frown, tilting my head.

“Isn’t that usually an end-of-semester kind of thing?” I hate parties, anyway, a fact that Chris is well aware of.

“Mate, does it look like I care? Two words: ‘free’ and ‘booze’,” he winks at me, an exaggerated movement that actually makes me snort. _He has a point_. “Besides,” he adds, tone turning teasing, “PJ said Cait will be there!” He’s wiggling his eyebrows, and heat rushes to my cheeks.

“Yeah, alright, just- I guess come get me before you leave?” I duck back into my room, willing the stupid blush to go away. _Free drinks and hot chicks,_ my inner bro cheers, but the rest of my brain is wired now - I’ve been trying to get Cait alone since she crashed my dorm’s movie night at the beginning of last year, all long limbs and soft curves and lips that I wanted to kiss; it was a fucking _miracle_ when I found out we were in a class together that semester.

Suffice to say, I don’t really feel like sleeping anymore.

\-----------------------

The next couple hours pass without incident - unless having a quick snack and stalking my dream girl on social media count as incidents - and I’m finally heading off to my only other class for the day, something to do with media and communications. Frankly, there are a lot of gen ed boxes I have to check, and this one happens to tick two in one go.

The building is halfway across campus, so I catch the bus just outside my dorm. It’s free for students, though the other people that live in town can take it as well, and I end up sat beside an older woman. 

Normally, any time I’m in public, I’d just pop in my headphones and zone out until I reach my destination, but she’s talking into an old flip phone, and I’m a little bit curious. _And a lot bit eavesdropping._ I stuff my earbuds in, pretend to turn on some music, and close my eyes in the hopes it’ll make me look less conspicuous.

“No, no, it’s alright, dear,” she has a very calming voice, one that reminds me of my grandmother. “Not this time, no, but you-” a pause, “yes, it _is_ very intriguing, and I’m sure next time’s the charm,” another pause. I’m trying to make out the muffled sounds on the other end of the line, but the ambient noise from the bus and other patrons makes it nearly impossible. “Well if a little old lady like _me_ can find it interesting, I’m sure they will, too,” I can feel a ghost of a smile on my face; the woman’s tone is reassuring and supportive, and I’m kind of wishing I could call my grandma right now. _Nothing’s stopping me, I suppose._

Between that thought and the suddenly harsh-sounding voice on the other end of the line, my smile disappears. _I wonder what’s got this other person so worked up?_

“Now, you know you’re being unfair,” reassurance has turned patronizing, and I feel bad for whoever just chewed her ear off. “You have no idea what he was going through, you can’t judge him based on a single interaction like that,” a pause, but at least the voice on the other end has quieted, hard to hear again. _Don’t yell at this nice old lady, I don’t give a fuck who you think you are._

“It’s almost my stop, now, but you quit that kind of thinking. I don’t care what your judgment is, it’s probably wrong.” I almost giggle at the way she shuts the other person down, but catch myself just before - I’m grinning, though, when she taps my shoulder and requests to be let out. My stop is one later, and I step off the bus feeling weirdly sentimental about this woman. _Maybe I should call my grandma..._ I lift my phone, but brush the thought aside when I notice the time.

 _Later, maybe._ I actually make it to this lecture on time, sliding into a seat in the back purely because I have no interest in being noticed.

\----------------------

Because the class only meets once a week, it doesn’t get out til nearly dinner time, so I opt to walk back to the dorm and stop along the way for some food. I end up in an off-campus diner - really, it’s just across the street from the edge of the campus, hardly _off_ campus; it’s one that I’d frequented with most of the guys from my floor last year.

Fortunately, they have a counter, so I can keep human interaction to a minimum - I plunk down on one of the tacky red swivel barstools and grab a menu from between some napkin holders. I’m scanning through the thing like I mean it, though I know I’ll just order the same greasy burger I got every time I came here last year - with extra cheese, hold the pickles.

A girl about my age, probably a student as well, walks over and grins down at me expectantly, notepad poised to take my order.

“Oh, uh, yeah, uh, just the cheeseburger.” She jots it down, already turning away. “Oh! Extra cheese, and, uh, no pickles?” I grimace as she adds the note and heads off to the kitchen. _Wow, I am so awkward._ I pull out my phone, trying to look normal but mostly just needing a distraction. _How am I so inept at talking to people?_

The diner has a 50’s American vibe to it - bright red and chrome accents everywhere, all cushy booths and retro wall art; despite the loud aesthetic, it’s rather quiet; there aren’t many patrons. I check the time on my phone, which is still held in my hand - frankly, I can’t even remember what I’d intended to do with it. _It’s definitely a peak time, wonder why nobody’s-_

As if summoned by Satan himself, a _huge_ group of people pushes in through the door, voices and laughter bouncing off all the plasticky surfaces and assaulting my eardrums. The host - a guy who looks familiar but I can’t put my finger on why I recognize him - leads the group to a collection of tables near me, and I’m suddenly wishing for death.

Among the throng of college kids, I catch a glimpse of none other than _Phil fucking Lester_ , and he naturally decides to sit in the spot directly facing me. _Great_. I avert my gaze, focusing dutifully on the phone in my hands even though it’s still only displaying my home screen. _I was having such a nice time - okay, ‘nice’ is relative - until he came along._ Something about just _seeing_ the guy has soured my mood.

The moment my food’s been set in front of me, I try to ignore my annoyance in favor of stuffing my face with cheesy meaty goodness. It works, serving as a fantastic distraction, until a waitress - the girl who took my order, I notice - trips on air and an entire platter of beverages goes crashing to the floor.

My eyebrows lift, mouth pausing mid-chew to let my eyes digest the scene. It’s gruesome: half of Phil’s party is covered in some variation of liquid, pulling at the napkin dispensers as if their lives depend on it, and the other half has just stood up in shock. Phil’s the first to move, though it’s not toward any of his friends - he steps around the table to the waitress, helping her to her feet before retrieving her platter and doing his best to pick up the disastrous remains of the cups and ice scattered across the floor.

As the rest of his entourage cleans themselves up, Phil offers the waitress a napkin. She declines, and I notice she’s come away relatively unharmed. Before any other dangers present themselves, she calls to someone in the kitchen, who bustles out with an armload of towels and sets to work cleaning up the remaining spill. A flirty giggle catches my attention, drawing it from the disaster zone on the floor back to the waitress. The waitress _and Phil_. 

I may have shit people skills, but I know a come-on when I see one. She’s laying a hand on his shoulder, smiling and batting her eyes. It’s almost comical, how stereotypical the scene looks, and I nearly choke on the food I’m just now remembering is still in my mouth. I swallow thickly, glancing back at the lovebirds just long enough to see the girl type something into Phil’s phone and brush a brief kiss to his cheek. 

_Wow, even a piece of shit like Lester can get someone._ I poke around my chips halfheartedly, not really feeling hungry anymore. _But I’ve got a chance, I’ll see Cait tonight._ I shove a final bite in my mouth, a little determined but mostly nervous, and leave a couple bills on the counter to cover my check.

\----------------------

After an hour - I checked, an _actual fucking hour_ \- of going through every shirt I own to find one that looks halfway decent, I’m startled by an impatient knock at my door. Followed by another, and another. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I glance at my phone - it’s half past nine on the dot, PJ’s always had remarkable timing despite being a spacey dude. I fling the door open and am immediately attacked with a hug, which I realize must be from PJ - Chris is still stood in the hall. Unlike me, it seems he’s rather unconcerned with dressing to impress, because he’s wearing the same t-shirt and jeans he’s had on all day.

“Hey, buddy, long time no see!” PJ’s practically shouting in my ear, so I offer him a momentary pat on the back before pulling away - it’s not that I don’t like the guy, he’s just always come across a bit _much_ for me. Fortunately, he doesn’t look offended.

“Hey Peej, good to see you,” I smile, and it’s genuine. “Shall we?” I flick off the light in my room and step out, locking the door behind me. PJ takes the lead, and Chris drifts up toward him. I’m not exceptionally social, but I’m already feeling like an awkward third wheel as I trail behind the two.

The party is close, and we arrive after only a few minutes of walking - it’s some frat or other, I can’t be bothered to remember, but true to Chris and PJ’s promise, it’s swimming in alcohol. I don’t waste time, ditching the two - not that they’d notice, they’re so deep in conversation - to find the kitchen.

It’s blessedly less crowded than the living room had been, and I grab a plastic cup and dump a few different liquors and mixers in; the result is bitter and fruity, but it’ll do. I spend the next two drinks safely tucked away in a corner of the kitchen, alternating between taking small sips of the pseudo-cocktail in my cup and scanning the passing partygoers for familiar faces.

 _One_ familiar face, really. And my heart nearly explodes from my chest when I notice her, grinning and tugging at the shirt of some frat bro in front of her. I lean back against the wall of my corner, trying to get myself under control. _It’s fine, she’s not actually_ with _anyone_ \- I’d checked, her relationship status is still very much single - _she’s just dancing, and she’ll probably need to come get another drink soon,_ I reason, which sounds pretty logical to my hazy brain. 

So I stand, I sip, I stare for a little longer. And sure enough, she finally does, barely even stumbling on heels so high that she’s about at my eye level. _Fuck it, here goes._ I down the last of my drink, wincing at the sting that the sugar doesn’t quite manage to cover. 

“Hey, uh, Cait, right?” I walk up beside where she’s mixing her drink - rum and coke, it looks like - and do my best to feign nonchalance. She looks at me, eyes cloudy for a moment before they light up in recognition. I think my heart matches them.

“Dan!” I could actually melt, dissolve into nothingness right now, just hearing her say my name. “It’s _sooooo_ good to see you again!” Her words don’t slur much, and she takes a sip of her freshly made drink. Because I have an empty cup and she’s staring at me, I fumble with the rum she just set down and pour myself some.

“Yeah, uh, same,” I chuckle a little, hoping to mask what must be the most awkward tone of voice _ever_. _I’m ruining this whole damn thing._

“We _have_ to hang out again, like, _soon_ , okay?” I look up, absolutely shocked. But clear green eyes are staring back at me, and I think my brain stops working. It _definitely_ does when she pulls me into a quick hug before heading off toward the crowded living room.

 _Did that just…?_ I’m still sorting through my thoughts, alcohol making it a bit more challenging than usual, when someone taps my shoulder. I spin slowly, hoping the room won’t start spinning as well. And I’m met with eyes as piercing as Cait’s but far more _blue_. It takes my muddled brain a few seconds to place them.

“Do you mind? You’re, uh, blocking the alcohol?” The voice helps things along, and light bulbs go off like fireworks in my head. _Lester._ My default in awkward situations is to fall back on manners, and I’m about to step aside, but this is _Phil fucking Lester_ , the guy who ruined my last semester and is almost definitely going to ruin this one. 

“Do _you_ mind? I’m trying to pour myself a drink,” I retort, grateful my tongue isn’t as thick as it feels - the words come out sharp, exactly the way I’d hoped. I lift the rum bottle I’d set aside, twisting the cap off as slowly as I can, then turn my head - Phil’s eyes narrow at me, and I offer a saccharine-sweet smile in response. We end up in this stalemate of staring as I continue removing the lid, tipping the alcohol so it just barely pours into my cup. After a few long moments, Phil rolls his eyes and shakes his head, turning and heading back toward the crowded room.

“Yeah, fuck off, mate,” I would like to shout it, because it feels like a thing that needs to be shouted and my blood is boiling and I’m _definitely_ tipsy, but I am also cognizant enough to know that I do not want to get into a fight I probably wouldn’t win. So the words come out quiet and almost desperate, ringing back in my ears pitifully. I set the bottle down with a glassy thump, then down the alcohol I’d managed to pour in my cup in one gulp.

 _No more fucking around,_ I decide on a whim, diverting my pent-up anger into confidence. Abandoning my empty cup, I push into the throng of dancers, searching for the wavy brunette hair that had originally tempted me out to this stupid party. 

When I find it, my stomach churns. And it _probably_ has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Cait, the girl I’ve been pining after for the last _six fucking months_ , has that frat bro shoved up against a wall, gorgeous plump lips pressed against his and perfectly manicured hands wandering the expanse of his torso. 

Because I’m already shoving through the crowd, I continue past the scene until I reach the front door and stumble outside onto the lawn. The cool mid-winter air is refreshing, calming my stomach but not my head. Or heart. I feel hot tears leaking from the corner of my eye, and my cheeks are warm from embarrassment. _How could I have ever thought she’d go for a lanky, awkward, socially inept loser like me over a hunk like that?_

It’s a stupid thought, objectively, and it’s stupid that I’m fucking _crying_ over a girl I clearly never had a chance with, but a choked sob escapes my throat, and I slap a hand across my mouth in the hopes of muffling the mortifying sound.

“Are, uh, you alright?” Apparently, my hand did not do its job. I whirl around, fighting the dizziness that threatens my balance, to find the bane of my existence stood at the top of the steps. 

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” I try, but I can hear the cracking in my voice. Instead of facing the humiliation of having Phil see me cry, I put as much steadiness into my feet as I can manage and march off in what I _think_ is the direction of my dorm.

By some miracle, my drunken brain managed to get one thing right, and I end up face-down on my mattress ten minutes later. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fumble around until my fingers pull the damned thing out.

 **From Chris (23:47):** _Yooooo man whered u go_

I don’t bother responding, just lock my phone and drop it to the floor. _Fuck everything, I just need to sleep for a few years_.


	2. Uhh...okay, actually Day 1 this time

I wake with a start, the sound of my alarm shocking me from whatever bizarre dream I just had. _That was a hell of a vivid dream, jesus._ I reach out, finding my phone resting on the edge of the bedside table. My first instinct on seeing the uncomfortably bright screen is to hit snooze and face-plant back in my pillow for a while, but worry squirms in my gut - I can remember _everything_ from that stupid dream, and I’d ended up late to my first class. _Maybe it’s a warning. Not that I believe in anything like that..._

With a groan, I shove off my duvet and stand, stretching exaggeratedly. After a few moments of fumbling around in the semi-darkness, I manage to find my shower stuff and head down the hall to the shared bathrooms. On the way, I notice Chris in the lounge, passed out on the couch. In _exactly_ the same clothes he wore in my dream. _Freaky coincidences_ , I decide, shrugging it off in favor of a hot shower.

I let the pounding of water on my back wash away the weird feeling in my chest, and I emerge from the now-steamy bathroom feeling moderately more awake. _Though I could seriously go for some coffee._ I head back to my room, passing a still-sleeping Chris, and get dressed before stuffing a notebook and pen into my backpack. When I check the time, I’m ready to go five minutes early.

 _Perfect._ There’s a cafe on the way, and I’ve got just enough time to grab a cup before class. 

\-----------------------------

The place is moderately crowded, but the line moves quickly and people aren’t hanging around, grabbing their drinks and speed-walking out the door. I order and pay, then stand by the counter to wait. When ten whole seconds pass and I’m immensely bored, I pull out my phone. On a strange impulse - maybe triggered by my dream from last night - I pull up Cait’s Facebook. 

She’s majoring in biology, so I doubt I’ll have any classes with her this semester - the last one was completely by chance, a gen ed for us both. As I scroll on her page, I vaguely hear when my name’s called and grab the hot drink from the counter, eyes never leaving my phone. _Fuck, she’s gorgeous_. 

Fully absorbed in my borderline-stalking - _research_ \- I don’t notice the person in front of me, and end up walking smack into them; the lid of my cup flies off, sending scalding coffee splashing onto both me and the other guy. 

“ _Fuckfuckfuck, holy shit_ , are you okay-” the words slip off my tongue before I realize who I’ve just run into. 

“Yeah, I’m-” I don’t let Phil finish, shoving past him and out the door. _Great, now my dreams are predicting shitty encounters with shitty people and being late for the first day of my shitty course_. I toss the half-empty cup into a nearby trash bin, then power-walk back to the dorm, marching down the hall and throwing open my door with a slam. By the time I’m moderately clean and wearing a fresh shirt, I’m already ten minutes late. _This is so fucking stupid._

“Wow, if this is how shit you look on the first day, I’d hate to see what you’ll look by finals week!” Chris shouts as I fly past, and something about the words makes my feet falter; I almost stop, about to ask him why he said that, _exactly_ that, but the anxiety of running late keeps me moving. I spend the entire walk to class trying to get rid of the weird feeling in my stomach.

When I inch the door open to my first class, I notice three things simultaneously: the first, my instinct is leading me to an open seat two rows from the back, which feels suspiciously deja-vu-ish. The second, I’ve completely forgotten my backpack in my room, discarded before swapping my shirt for a clean one and apparently left in my haste to get to class. The third sends a shiver up my spine.

Sat in the front row, in what I’m _sure_ is the exact spot he’d occupied in my dream, is _Phil fucking Lester._ _What the fuck is actually happening right now?_ I nearly trip as I fumble into the seat in the back, and I think my hands are shaking. I just about jump out of my skin when a bubbly voice informs the class that she heard ‘wherefore’ actually meant ‘why’ in ancient English.

 _Fuck this, fuck all this._ I stand back up, blood rushing from my head; the moment of dizziness makes me stumble. _I have no idea what’s happening but I cannot be here right now._ The professor’s talking again, responding to what the girl had said; I can hear the familiar words, but my brain isn’t processing them. It’s not processing _anything_.

I manage to make it out of the auditorium before I collapse, landing heavily on my ass and leaning against the nearest wall for some kind of solidity, some kind of support. _Why did my dream fucking_ predict _things today? Being late to class, Phil as the TA, the exact words that Chris said, and this random girl too?_ I can feel how wide my eyes have stretched, though I’m resting my head in my hands and all I’m really staring at is my thighs.

Blood rushes in my ears, not doing much to help me calm down or make sense of _any_ of this shit, so I don’t hear the person approach; I jump when a hand taps my shoulder. Though I don’t have fur, I would describe my next reaction as _bristling_ : Phil’s crouched next to me, having the fucking audacity to look _concerned_.

“Are you...okay?” I narrow my eyes, too overwhelmed by everything up til this point to actually come up with the kind of scathing response I’d like to send his way - my brain toys around with some ideas, some witty and sarcastic one-liners I could throw out before standing and walking away, but none of them actually comes out my mouth.

“No, I’m not _fucking_ okay,” is what I say instead, “I’ve had a _shit_ day so far,” I stare hard at him when he winces, obviously remembering the coffee incident this morning, “and it’s only going to go downhill from here,” I try to keep the bite in my tone, but it dies when the rest of the events from my dream unravel in my head. _Fuck. Cait’s going to break my heart all over again, jesus christ._ I had brushed that off as a nervous dream, but apparently it’ll just happen again anyway.

“What...what do you mean, you _know_?” He asks, eyes wide as he leans away. Exhausted and just trying to get him to leave, I drop my head back into my hands. “Wait,” his voice is low, now, conspiratorial, “you _actually know_ , don’t you?” Though I wouldn’t dare acknowledge his accusation, my ears perk up. _Does_ he _know something?_

I feel a nudge on my arm and do my best to ignore it. But he keeps on poking me, and I finally just give up.

“What? Yes, I fucking _know_ okay,” I whisper-shout, afraid to draw attention from the few students I’m just noticing are sat around the chairs in the hallway. “Now fuck off,” I say, _I want to wallow without you fucking staring at me_ , I don’t say. 

“Why are you the only one who seems to know?” Phil asks, but it sounds more like a question to himself. I groan when he sits down next to me, and I lean my head back against the wall. _Wait, the ‘only one who knows’?_ My eyes wander the space in front of me, trying to piece together his meaning.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I hope the constant use of the word ‘fuck’ will keep him from thinking I’m actually curious, but I know how the question sounds - the cussing doesn’t cover the interest in my tone.

“You’re the only person I’ve talked to today who knew what would happen,” he says it like it’s the most logical deduction, like _of course_ that’s what he meant, and I roll my eyes. 

“Look, I’m not in the mood,” I don’t know what he’s on about, but I’ve had my fill of Phil for pretty much the rest of my life, and I have no intention of just sitting here and listening to him spout nonsense. _He’s probably just trying to fuck with me, anyway_. I stand abruptly, leaning for a moment against the wall while my head catches up with the movement, then I push off and take semi-confident strides toward the building’s exit.

“Wait!” I hear the voice from behind me, but I don’t bother stopping. “You’re gonna miss the lecture!” I choke out a harsh laugh.

“Already seen it, Romeo and Juliet and teen drama, no need to sit through it again,” I grimace, because the words are unnervingly true: I can remember every detail of the class (the parts I’d tuned into, anyway) as if it had actually happened. _This is fucked up._ I shove out the door, which swings wide, and head back to my dorm. 

By the time I arrive at the building, I’ve half-convinced myself that I’m just having an intense bout of deja vu. But I’m still irritated about Phil, giving my brain over properly to being pissed off at him for messing with me like that. _He’s got to have some kind of fucked up humor to think that was funny._

My residual anger comes out in the form of physical force, and the door bounces back against the wall as I push it open.

“Oi, careful, don’t need you breaking anything on the first day, mate,” Chris calls from the lounge, and I actually come to a dead stop; if I had, at any point, assured myself that nothing freaky was going on, I certainly no longer feel that’s the case. 

“What?” I manage, barely a question and more of a quiet declaration of my absolute confusion. _This is...beyond fucked up._

“I said don’t break shit, man!” Chris laughs, but I still can’t move. _This can’t all be a coincidence. I must be in a coma or something, fucking hell_. It’s the only explanation that seems relatively logical, that my brain is stuck on some kind of time loop or is imagining the whole thing. I take a slow step forward, then another, then another, until the lounge comes into view. I stare at Chris for an exaggerated amount of time, until he looks up from his phone.

“Hey! Oh, uh, dude, you okay?” His eyebrows scrunch, and I nod slowly - I’m not, but how the fuck do I explain that this isn’t even real? “Oookay, sure, well PJ just texted me and-”

“Yeah, I’ll go to the party. Cait’ll be there, right?” I decide to get ahead of this... _thing_ , whatever’s happening. Chris - or, maybe my fever-dream Chris - pulls off a shocked expression rather well.

“Uh, yeah, okay. And, uh, free booze, too!” He tacks on, though I can tell the enthusiasm is forced. In some fugue state, I make it to my room and collapse on my bed. I wish I could fall asleep, but my brain isn’t having it, and I end up laying there until enough cogs have started turning to attempt to process what’s going on.

 _If this is a dream, or coma-thing, or whatever, then I guess the objective is to wake up?_ It seems reasonable, but I hit a wall trying to come up with _how_ to accomplish that task. 

“Wake up,” I say to the room around me, but nothing changes. “Wake up!” I try, a little louder, to no avail. “Wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup,” I repeat it until the words lose their meaning, sounding funny on my tongue. Then I lay in silence, staring at the ceiling expectantly. _Maybe it’ll fade out and turn into the ceiling of a hospital room._ But the yellowish-beige never melts into pristine white, and I give up hoping everything will just...fix itself.

“Fine!” I shout at the room, sitting up. Maybe it’s like Groundhog Day, and I have to be a ‘good person’, or whatever. _I’m off to a stellar start,_ I grimace - though, technically, it’s not like I’ve been _mean_ , just haven’t gone out of my way to be exceptionally _nice_. _But I know what’s going to happen._ Armed with the knowledge of the day’s events, I stand a little more confidently - as long as I completely suspend my belief (or lack thereof) in whatever’s making this happen to me, I can kind of get behind this theory.

I move to my desk, pulling out a scrap paper and pen to jot down the people I’ve encountered - the lady on the bus, the waitress at the diner, was there anyone at the party? I swallow against the lump in my throat as the image of Cait kissing that guy burns behind my eyes. _I doubt she needed any help._ I frown at the list, which is barely even a list, but I can’t think of anyone else who may have needed help. Hell, I’m not even sure the old lady really needed help, she seemed to have things well under control with whoever she’d been talking to.

I groan, crumpling up the paper and tossing it to the floor in the general vicinity of my trash bin. _This is fucking pointless, it’s obviously not my subconscious trying to make me a better person._ But I can’t imagine what else it would be. Or how else I would get out of this hellhole. _Maybe the whole thing is a fluke, and I just have to survive the day and it’ll be tomorrow._ I cling desperately to this hope, in spite of the doubt swirling in my head.

Just like before - _ugh, can I even call it ‘before’ if it was some weird dream thing?_ \- I catch the bus to my other class; oddly, seeing the old woman again is comforting, and I take the empty seat beside her. This time, though, I don’t bother with headphones, hoping I’ll be able to hear more of the other side of the conversation. It feels almost too intrusive, but I decide that escaping from this weird loop warrants crossing some boundaries.

At first, the conversation is the same - on this end, anyway. “No, no, it’s alright, dear. Not this time, no, but you- yes, it _is_ very intriguing, and I’m sure next time’s the charm. Well if a little old lady like me can find it interesting, I’m sure they will, too,” I try to keep my smile casual, but her words are still just so adorably encouraging. _And now, I think, that’s when the person freaks out at her._ I frown, waiting. _Maybe I’ll be able to hear it this time._

But it never comes - the voice stays calm, maybe goes even quieter than before.

“Yes, so you’ve told me,” I scrunch my eyebrows, trying to dissect this new information. _Told her what?_ “That’s good, dear, empathy is an important quality to have,” _didn’t this person flip out last time?_ There’s a silence on the other end of the line, then a few mumbled words. “It’s almost my stop, now, but I’m glad you’re rethinking things. It’s no good to judge without knowing the full picture, whatever you’re seeing is probably wrong.”

When she hangs up and taps my shoulder, I’m not smiling. _Why is this conversation different?_ It’s not fitting into my whole ‘everything’s repeating itself’ theory. _Though I suppose I changed some things, today, like getting coffee and stuff. But the end result was still the same._

I zone out for the entirety of my media class, trying to decipher what this stupid conversation means. 

\-----------------------------

Three hours later, on the way to the diner, I’m no closer to any kind of understanding - I’ve been turning around this new piece of information and trying to figure out where it fits in, but I’m starting to wonder if it doesn’t even belong to this particular puzzle to begin with. _Why does this have to be so fucking confusing?_ My head hurts, and the bright atmosphere of the diner doesn’t do much to help.

I don’t bother looking at the menu when I sit at the counter, I just wait for the waitress to come over.

“Yeah, I’ll have the cheeseburger, extra cheese and no pickles,” my voice is so monotonous, I feel like I’ve just exhausted all brain capacity for the day. _If my emotions could just shut down, that’d make dealing with the rest of the evening much easier._ The girl writes my order and walks off, not seeming to take offense from my brisk tone.

Instead of pulling out my phone, I slump forward on the countertop and drum my fingers impatiently. _Any minute now…_ I straighten in my seat the moment I hear the doors open, fighting the urge to turn around and watch the crowd that walks in. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see them being seated at the tables nearby, and I frown the moment Phil appears at the edge of my vision. He takes the same seat he had last time, but he looks more agitated. _Maybe I’m just projecting my own nerves on him. Or maybe I’m just making shit up_. I lean forward on my table in a huff, then pull back - the waitress is setting my burger in front of me, and I’d almost face-planted into the plate.

Though I make an effort to look normal, casually taking bites of my food, I keep an eye on the waitress - she’s darting in and out of the kitchen, behind the counter, and out to tables with expert precision, but it’s only once I notice her fill a serving tray with beverages that I set my burger down.

Little warning bells are going off in my head, because I _know_ what’s about to happen, but fear and anxiety have me paralyzed - all I can do is watch the scene unfold. _She’ll trip, seemingly over nothing, and drench half the people. Phil will-_ I stop the train of thought, because she _does_ trip, exactly then, but Phil’s already there. He catches her by the arm, and the drinks do nothing more than wobble precariously as she regains her balance.

“Oh my god, _thank you_!” The over-the-top tone pulls me from my staring, and I spin back toward my food before anyone can notice how avidly I’ve been watching. _How did he-_ the moment it hits me, I stand; ignoring my half-eaten plate, I toss some cash on the counter and rush out the door.

 _He fucking knew._

\-------------------------------

Back in my room, I pace between the door and the opposite wall until I’m sure I’ve worn a track in the carpet. _How did he know? Can he read minds? Was he reading mine, and he saw what was about to happen? Can he see the future? Maybe he did something to me that made me have that freaky future-dream last night._ Possibilities spin around until I’m not even sure which way is up, and I collapse onto my bed, doing my best to shove everything out. _Maybe I’ll just wake up tomorrow and this will all be gone_. I like that possibility the best.

A sharp knock sounds at my door, followed by more in quick succession. _Must be nine thirty_ , I reason, assuming PJ and Chris are at the door. 

Again, I’m tackle-hugged by PJ, and we walk to the party - the whole thing is a blur for me, and I barely register anything more than shapes and colors and the fact that words are being said, meanings and events bypass my brain completely. _I just need to get through the night._ It’s the only thing keeping me moving as we walk through the front door to the house. I don’t bother seeking out a particular brunette, more focused on finding a spot to wait until I can reasonably sneak away unnoticed.

Which is how I end up opening the door to a coat closet, mercifully devoid of any couples making out. It’s strange and impulsive, but I close the door behind me and melt into the darkness, sitting against the back corner with my knees pulled tight against my chest. Music thumps outside, but only muffled, incoherent sounds reach my ears, and I let it lull me into some kind of space-zone. 

_Why the fuck is this happening?_ What _even is happening?_ I hug my legs, feeling tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I don’t question the moment they spill over, hot and wet against my cheeks. _This is probably about when I found Cait pressed up against that hunk, so if I wait a few more minutes, they’ll be gone,_ I decide, though I’m honestly just looking for an excuse to leave already. Desperate to be out and back in my own bed, I scrub at my face angrily - nobody needs to see me crying, not this time. 

Once I’m fairly confident I can pass off my red face and puffy eyes as drunkeness, I stand up and step out of the closet. There’s nobody nearby, so I close the closet behind me and take a slow, steadying breath. Then I head off down the hall toward the door I _think_ will lead me back to the front of the house so I can get out of here; I pull it open, attempting to exude the air of a standard partygoer.

My chest caves inward when the scene unfolds before me - the door leads to a bedroom, and I realize too late that I’ve walked in on something I can’t ever unsee: brown curls fall to block two sets of lips pressed together, wide hips pin some guy to the bed, and I can tell it’s Cait without seeing her face. Hell, I’d have been _perfectly fine_ not seeing her face, but her head flies up when the door clicks open. Her lips are pink and puffy from where she’s been kissing the guy beneath her, and her eyes are wide and innocent. _Fucking hell._

I spin, not bothering to mutter an awkward apology, and sprint toward the other end of the hall - this time, the door opens to the rest of the house, and I shove through the crowd as fast as I can manage. Not that it matters, because I still burst out onto the lawn with tear tracks down my cheeks and an uncomfortable urge in my throat to just break down and start sobbing. 

“Hey, are you alright?” I whirl around at the voice, the absolute _last_ thing I need right now - Phil’s stood, same as before, at the top stair and frowning at me. Looking _concerned_ again.

“Fuck off,” I actually intend to shout it, but it barely gets past the lump in my throat and comes out choked and pathetic. Where my words lacked power, though, I force my stance to make up for it - I’m staring daggers, hands clenched in fists at my sides, and generally hoping I look more angry than upset.

“Sorry, I know I’m doing it again,” my face falters, and I frown. _Doing what? Wait, is he actually fucking doing something?_ “The same thing, I mean, that I did last time. I’m sorry, that probably doesn’t help,” he takes a step toward me, but slowly, like he’s expecting me to actually lash out. _As if I’ve ever been any use in a fight._

“Whatever the _fuck_ you’re doing, just stop it,” I growl, pleased that this tone of voice seems to work when shouting was such a horrible failure. Really, I just want him to _stop looking like he cares_. He’s a piece of shit, I don’t need him to be giving me reason to doubt that.

“I mean, I’m not-” he shakes his head, looking like he _pities_ me now. _Fucking hell, that’s worse._ “I didn’t do this, I don’t know _why_ this is happening, but it is, and I think it’s happening to you, too,” he takes another step, so he’s standing fully on the lawn now, but still a good distance away. I clench my teeth.

“I don’t know what you _think_ is going on,” I feel the expectant pause at the end of my statement, but I honestly can’t think of anything to say. Hell, if he has answers, I kind of want them. _I just want him to say it’s a weird fever dream and it’ll all be back to normal tomorrow_. The silence expands around us, turning awkward in the wake of my dangling sentence.

“It’s the same as yesterday, right?” He offers, and I give him a cautious nod. “Except if _you_ did something different, but sometimes it didn’t matter?” I nod again, narrowing my eyes at him. “Same here, but I have no idea why, so don’t blame me?” He ends the statement as a question, like there’s room for argument. So I do the only thing my irrational, hurt, confused brain can come up with - I argue.

“Well what if it _is_ your fault? It’s not like you’d accept blame, or anything,” I slip as much malice into the words as I can manage, then spin on a heel and head off to my dorm - at least I’m clear-headed enough this time to know for sure that I’m going the right way.

If Phil has any comeback after that, I don’t hear it, too lost in my own head and the way my blood is rushing in my ears to even consider the outside world. _Why him, too? Why us both? Is there anyone else?_ If there is, I haven’t found them, and it seems Phil hasn’t either. _This is beyond fucked up._

I check my phone once I’ve collapsed in bed, frowning when I notice the text from Chris.

 **From Chris (23:47):** _Yooooo man whered u go_

I groan, not even bothering to plug the thing in before I bury my face in my pillow and try to fall asleep. _Please, for the love of everything both holy and unholy, let me just wake up and it be tomorrow..._ I don’t need to be stuck in a hellish time loop with a guy I hate.


	3. Day 1. Again.

The first thing I realize when I wake up is that my alarm hasn’t gone off yet - either that, or I turned it off without remembering. The second thing I realize is that my phone is most definitely _not_ in my hand, or even near it, like it had been when I fell asleep. I squeeze my eyes shut until I see stars, hoping against all hope that I’m wrong and it just fell off the bed or something in the middle of the night. With my eyes still shut, I reach out to the bedside table.

I let out one of the most exasperated noises I’ve ever made in my _life_ when my hand comes in contact with the thing, plugged in and charging beside my bed. In _exactly_ the same place it was yesterday morning. And the morning before. I lift the screen to my face, nearly dropping it when it begins ringing. 

I turn the alarm off, then check the date. _Fuck. Still the first day of classes._ I groan, struck with the desire to just throw my phone across the room and go back to sleep.

 _Actually..._ apparently, nobody would know the difference anyway, and I’ve already attended my classes for the day... _fuck it._ I roll over, leaving my phone charging because I’m not yet ready to risk destroying it permanently if today’s the last of these weird repeat-days. Since I’ve not even fully woken up yet, it doesn’t take long to slip back into the void of sleep.

\------------------------

I wake to an impatient knocking on my door, some time later. 

“What?” I shout, loudly enough that I hope the person can hear. My voice comes out croaky and hoarse, and I reach for my phone to see what time it is.

“Hey, you up? Don’t you have class?” I recognize Chris’ voice through the door as I pull my phone over, groaning when I notice it’s only ten minutes into the start of my first class. I’ve barely slept in at all.

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” I call back, expecting him to leave me alone. I’m just curling back into my pillow when my door flies open, and I sit up in shock. “What the _fuck_?” Chris has burst into the room, punching a fist in the air triumphantly.

“Peej said to pick your lock if you tried to skip on the first day,” Chris laughs at the grimace I give him. “Mate,” he stares at me for a moment before pursing his lips, “if this is how shit you look on the first day, I’d hate to see what you’ll look by finals week,” then he’s leaving. He doesn’t even close the fucking door behind him.

 _Fucking_ hell _this is stupid,_ I fall back against the pillow, making a mental note of the weird rules this universe of infinite first-days seems to be forcing on me. _Show up to class, got it._

On my way to the building, I decide that today will be for testing - I’ll push the limits of what I can and can’t do, and see if anything useful reveals itself. Apparently, I can’t sleep in all day - _such a shame_ \- but the events of yesterday and the day before weren’t perfectly identical, so I must be able to change _some_ things. _Maybe that’s the key to getting out of here._

I all but saunter into the auditorium, easily twenty five minutes late to a fifty-minute lecture, but instead of taking the safe, inconspicuous spot in the back, I make my way fully down the center aisle to the front row. My steps don’t falter until I’m scanning the chairs for an empty seat - the eyes all staring at me are suddenly overwhelming, and I’m cursing myself for actually thinking this was a good idea - _yeah, just waltz in halfway through class and distract everyone, that’s a great plan, no possibility for loads of embarrassment there!_

I flinch when a hand waves me over, attached to none other than Phil Lester himself. Because _of course_ the only empty seat in the front row is right next to him.

The gaze of the entire classroom is a weight on my shoulders that I can’t shed quickly enough, and I rush over to fill the seat beside Phil. I make sure to frown at him, just so he doesn’t get the idea I might not hate him. But the professor doesn’t stop talking - already on the subject of Shakespearean language, it seems I’ve missed the ‘wherefore’ comment - and I can feel the heat in my cheeks beginning to cool.

So, naturally, Phil decides to slide a piece of paper my way, a short note written at the top.

**What was that?**

I didn’t bring anything to class - didn’t see a point, obviously - so I shrug. _Maybe he’ll just leave me alone..._ I’m not so lucky, though, and a pen soon joins the paper now occupying my desk.

 _Testing limits_.

I write it sloppily and don’t bother to elaborate, because I would _really_ prefer if he just let me get through this day so I can actually figure out what’s going on here. I would also _very much_ like to ignore the moment of comfort I feel when I remember that he’s stuck here too. _Not comfort, he’s just getting what he deserves._ I try not to think about what that means for me.

**Find any?**

I glance down briefly at the page, then over at the man beside me. But he’s staring intently at the professor, doodling in his notebook in a way that resembles note-taking. _I bet the guy actually took notes the first day, really detailed ones, too._ I snort unintentionally, and Phil whips around to stare at me, eyes narrowed. I shake my head in dismissal.

_Nothing. Limits: have to show up to class._

I nudge the paper onto his desk, because he’s already turned his attention back to the lecture. _What a nerd._ Even if he’s just doodling, it’s clear he’s actually taking in everything the professor is saying, though this would be the third time he’s hearing it. _And he’s not even a student in the class, for fuck’s sake._ I use my position to my advantage, watching Phil write out his own note while looking vaguely like I’m paying proper attention to the lecture.

**What else can we test?**

I cringe at the inclusion of the ‘we’. _‘We’ are not doing anything_ , is what I’d like to write. But as I roll the idea over in my head, it makes sense. Begrudgingly, I add my own note.

_Everything._

I stand in a huff, slamming the page down on top of Phil’s notebook and marching back up the center aisle to the back of the auditorium.

“Peace out, fuckers!” It’s so absurd and dramatic that I can’t keep the grin on my face, letting all my frustration from the past two days out in that exclamation before shoving both double doors open and walking out. It’s only once they close behind me that I realize how stupid this whole time loop shit is making me - _really? ‘Peace out, fuckers’?_ I groan, burying my head in my hands. _How is it I always manage to pick the most embarrassing shit that my brain comes up with?_

I jump out of the way when one of the doors opens, relaxing a little when I notice it’s only Phil. 

“So, uh, apparently that’s fine,” I mumble, not finding the emotional strength to put a harsh spin on my words. 

“Yeah, apparently,” Phil’s tilting his head, eyeing me up and down.

“What?” I squint at him, then frown. “Am I disappearing or something? Fading from existence for breaking the rules?” I manage to make these comments sarcastic, at least, and Phil lets out a quick chuckle before shaking his head.

“No, you’re fine. So I know what my day is supposed to look like, what about yours?” My eyes drift toward the ceiling, thinking through my day. 

“I think the next two hours are a free-for-all, or I might have to go back to my dorm. Not sure, I was in my room both times,” I offer, starting small. Phil’s just nodding, like this makes perfect sense. _How has he been so damn calm about everything? We’re fucking stuck in a time loop!_ I frown at this, because why does _he_ get to be calm and I have to be the one having a breakdown every hour?

“Great, let’s go,” I cross my arms, lifting my eyebrows. 

“Go _where_? Back to my dorm? I think not, Lester,” I scoff for good measure, but he only rolls his eyes. 

“No, I’m pretty sure I have to be in the communications research labs soon, and we can test if you have to be in your dorm room,” I don’t move, trying to decide how to extract myself from this situation. _I could very well just say ‘fuck off’ and leave, I guess._ “You can help me with research! Not, like, _research_ research, but how to get out of this,” Phil adds, waving me over. Because I can’t think of anything else to do - and comparing our experiences might actually help - I sigh and follow him out the door.

It seems the labs are in the basement of the same building I have class in later, which means it’s a ten minute bus ride. Or a thirty minute walk.

“You can’t be serious,” I grumble as he passes the bus stop. I pause beside the sign.

“We _have_ to walk, it’s required,” Phil insists, and I mumble some profanities under my breath and catch up with him. I’m not even sure _why_ I’m so against walking, it’s not the end of the world. _It’s because Phil wants to walk, and I am vehemently anti-Phil,_ I reason, which sounds petulant and childish in my head and makes me frown at the pavement.

We’re both absolutely silent for the next fifteen minutes, though I can tell from quick glances at Phil that he’s itching to speak.

“Spit it out, already,” I shoot him an exasperated glare, and he looks back like a deer in headlights.

“Oh! Uh, I was just gonna say that it seems like you don’t _have_ to be in your dorm room, since you haven’t been made to go back there yet,” he twists his lips, dropping his eyes to his shoes. I nod a confirmation, though he doesn’t see it.

“Guess so,” I add after a beat of silence. A lot more silence follows my words - Phil doesn’t seem inclined to speak much anymore.

When we get to the building, he enters ahead of me - I follow, relatively unfamiliar with this building aside from my one class. We head down some side stairs into a basement corridor, and Phil stops in front of one of the doors with a coded lock on it. I stretch my neck to try to see the code over his shoulder, but it’s blocked by his hand, and then he’s pushing inside and holding the door for me.

Lights flicker on automatically, illuminating a pretty bland space - there are a few pieces of equipment I don’t recognize, but otherwise it’s just a room full of computers and tables. Phil sits in front of one, turning it on and spinning in the chair to face me.

“You can, uh, use whatever computer,” he offers, waving a hand at the room around us. I furrow my brows, not fully understanding.

“For _what_?” I finally ask, when he doesn’t seem inclined to enlighten me. I blink twice at him while I wait for him to turn back around - he’s already faced back to the screen, logging in and pulling something up.

“Research,” he says, not looking in my direction. I blow out a breath, running a hand through my hair. Because I’m sick of his vagueness and sick of this whole situation and sick of Phil - _of all people to be stuck in a time loop with_ \- I ignore his commentary and pace among the tables.

“Why the _fuck_ do you do that? Can’t you give a _single_ straight answer on what I should look for? Or, wait, let me guess - you couldn’t care less if we’re stuck here forever, and you couldn’t care less how it might affect _me_ , right? Because, let’s be honest, it’s not like you ever cared whether I was struggling before, right?” I realize I’m rambling, just airing out all the frustrations I’ve carried since last semester - but he _did_ cause me to fail, and he _didn’t_ care, and we’re fucking _stuck_ so why not just get it all out in the open? 

_Hell, maybe he’s even got a good excuse._ Most of me hopes he doesn’t, that he’s exactly the horrible piece of shit I’ve painted him to be, but a very _very_ tiny piece of me is hoping that maybe there’s a reason. Maybe he didn’t want me to fail. _Or felt bad, at least_.

I look up from my exasperated pacing, hand gripping the roots of my hair tightly, to find Phil just _staring._ After a few tense moments, his eyes narrow. Then they’re focused on the computer screen again, but _something_ just happened.

“What?” I don’t get a response, so I stalk over to his chair. “I said _what_ , what the _fuck_ was that look for?” I’m shouting, but it doesn’t matter - _nothing_ matters, not here in this fucked up universe we’re stuck in - so I don’t stop. “You don’t give a shit, do you? You didn’t last semester, when you set me up to fail, and you don’t now. Hell, maybe you’ve even got something to do with all this,” I wave a hand in the air, then stare him down again, jutting my chin out and daring him to say something. _Prove me wrong._

“I-” a phone rings - not mine, I realize - and Phil gives me a hard look, one I can’t make sense of, before pulling his phone out and checking the screen. “I have to take this, just...see if you can find anything that might explain what’s happening,” his voice is tight as he points at the closest computer, then walks to the other end of the lab to answer the call. 

I collapse into the chair but make a point of _not_ doing what he said, instead listening to his soft words from across the room. I justify my eavesdropping by deciding I need to know everything about the required events of the time loop, including his, though I’m having trouble making out what he’s saying.

The call drags on far longer than I expect it to, and my ears start to pick up noises where there aren’t any - and I haven’t even managed to get the gist of whatever conversation Phil’s been having, as he’s stood facing the corner of the room as far from me as possible. Eventually, I give into my boredom and boot up the computer in front of me. It’s not fast, but it’s functional enough, and I’m soon scouring Google for anything that might indicate what’s happening to us. And _why_.

Mostly, I find references to Groundhog Day and a few variations thereof. There’s no indication of something like this having happened before - not that I really expected there to be, because surely we’d have heard of it? Or some conspiracy theorist would have made a detailed rant about it? But there’s absolutely nothing aside from pure fiction, and I lean back in the chair feeling utterly defeated. 

And Phil’s _still_ on the phone. 

His voice isn’t as quiet, now, bordering on what I recognize as his normal volume - which means I can just about make out his words.

“Well, not _this_ time. I guess they didn’t find my proposal all that interesting. But it is!” A pause, I assume the other person’s speaking. “Yeah, I know, I’ll just have to keep at it. I think...well, you know what I think about why they didn’t approve it last time,” Phil’s voice turns irritated, and I raise my eyebrows. I don’t think I’ve heard him angry before. “He just...I mean, he has the audacity to say things like that, and I thought…” a pause, and he sighs. “No, I know, and I’m _trying_ , really. I thought maybe you were right, I talked to him, but...I don’t think so, I think-” he’s cut off. “Okay, alright, I’ll talk to you soon, and _yes_ I know, but I think I’m getting a _pretty_ clear picture now.” 

I hunch down in my seat when he pulls the phone away from his ear to end the call, but it’s hard to miss his exasperated breath, even from across the room.

“Did you find anything?” I do my best to pretend to be pulled from my research, blinking slowly as he returns to his computer. He looks mostly normal, if a little frustrated. _Wonder what all that was about._

“Uh, no,” I drop my eyes, feeling unfairly useless - _it’s not like he did anything helpful for the past hour_. “Mostly Groundhog Day stuff, nothing solid,” I add, just to prove I was actually doing something. And definitely _not_ eavesdropping.

“Okay,” his tone is flat, maybe disappointed, but it’s hard to tell. “You said you were clear for two hours, and two hours is about up. What’s next? I can stay and do some more research, if you want,” he offers, leaning on the table in front of him. I realize I’ve been watching him, but he’s just been focused on the screen, so I turn away. _Why was I staring?_

“Class!” I shout, checking the time - I still have five minutes, and it’s just upstairs. “Just class, for now, and the diner later, and the party tonight,” I decide to just fill him in on the major events - he doesn’t need to know any of the devastating specifics, especially not with regards to the party. A pang shoots through my chest just thinking about it.

“I’m clear until the diner, and the party as well,” Phil nods in acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything further. Unsure what else to do, I make my way toward the door. _This is fantastically awkward, great._

“I, uh, guess I’ll see you then. Let me know if you find anything!” I call over my shoulder as I push out and into the hall. A brief grunt sounds behind me, which I take as a confirmation. The whole interaction - hell, this whole _day_ , this particular iteration - has me frazzled. I honestly have no idea what to make of all this, of Phil’s role, of this concept of limitations and boundaries and _rules_. 

Once again, I spend the entire class spaced out, trying to piece things together. The more information I have, the less I understand, and it’s _frustrating as hell_.

\------------------------------

I’m not sure why, maybe just because I know he’s in the building, but I find myself expecting to see Phil when I walk out of class. I don’t want to think about the drop in my chest when I scan the hall and find it empty.

 _Why do I even care?_ I huff out a breath as I step outside, grateful for the cool evening air. _It’s probably all because of Phil that we’re in this mess anyway_. That’s the only thing I managed to do during class: convince myself that this, in some way or another, is fully Phil’s fault. I have absolutely no evidence to support this theory, but I don’t have any better explanations, and this one comes with the satisfaction of being able to blame Phil.

I’m walking fast, aggravation fueling me, and I’m stood outside the diner before my brain has time to catch up. On a whim, I urge my feet to keep moving past the door - _I said I’d test the limits, right?_ And I’m far from in the mood to deal with encountering Phil right now. 

_Maybe that’s the trick - I have to avoid Phil in order to get back to ‘normal’ reality._ I turn this idea over in my head a few times, inspecting it from all possible angles. _No, because then why would I be forced to go to the class he’s TAing for?_ I shove my hands in my pockets, needing some kind of movement to deal with the disappointment of another failed theory. 

By the time I’ve gotten back to my dorm, I’m hungry - shockingly, skipping dinner will do that. I grimace when my stomach grumbles as I push through the door into my hall. Then I’m dodging to the side, slamming my shoulder into the wall and just managing to avoid a huge group of people heading out. 

“Dan?” I purse my lips, because of _course_ , by some stroke of shit luck, _Phil_ is there. _This must be the group that goes out to the diner._ After a quick scan of the backs of heads as they leave, I recognize a blonde girl who I’m just remembering lives somewhere on my floor. _How fucking convenient._

Instead of acknowledging Phil, who’s stayed back from the group and is now staring at me in confusion, I push off the wall and march over to my room. 

“Dan, where are you going? Shouldn’t you be at the diner already?” The voice is getting closer, and I whip my head towards Phil - he’s approaching slowly, like I might snap at him. _I damn well might, if he doesn’t leave me alone._ I’m still fumbling with my keys, though, and I have to break the tense staring contest to get my door unlocked. 

“I’m testing limits,” I say, low and cold, before pushing into my room and slamming the door behind me.

Well. That’s my intent. Instead, it bounces off something and creaks back open.

“Fine,” Phil’s voice is behind me still, but it sounds _too close_. I spin on a heel, shocked to find him _in my room_. The door swings shut of its own accord, closing behind him with a soft click.

“What the _fuck_ , get _out_!” I’m shouting, but rooted to the spot - I want to shove him toward the door, but he’s already in my space, and even the _thought_ of touching him feels too personal. So I point and shout and generally try not to let my face get too hot. But _of course_ he doesn’t seem to care, pressing his lips into a line and crossing his arms. Eventually, I run out of steam and sit heavily on my bed. _Why is he so damn impossible?_ I let my head fall into my hands.

“Are you done?” He asks, voice perfectly calm and collected. It makes me want to scream again.

“No! I am not _done_ , I will _never_ be done, because this is _all your fault_! _And you won’t even acknowledge it!_ ” I’m sort of shouting at my lap, then up at the ceiling as I fall back on my bed; I know it’s mitigating the intimidation factor, but I can’t meet his gaze. I try not to think about why. Not thinking tends to be the easiest way to avoid my problems.

“It _isn’t_ my fault. I don’t understand why you think that, but it isn’t. I’m just as stuck as you are,” he’s unbothered, almost monotonous, and I feel the need to overcompensate. _If he’s not to blame, why isn’t he upset, then?_ It’s not _my_ fault, and I’m a veritable storm of anger. Of emotion in general, apparently, if the tears pricking behind my eyes are any indicator. 

“Get _out_!” I shout at the ceiling, hoping to hide whatever tidal wave is about to happen. _If it isn’t his fault, then what’s happening? Why is it happening? And why me? And why, of all the people on the entire fucking planet, Phil Lester?_

There’s a long, tense silence, then Phil sighs. 

“You know what, fine.” The turning of my doorknob, the door swinging open. “I’ll see you at the party.” The door closing, silence. Tears leak from my eyes now, running down the sides of my face and into my ears - it’s a weird feeling, and enough to make me sit up, drop my head into my hands instead. 

Half of my brain expects him to come back, to apologize and help me brainstorm a way out of this - that’s the hopeful part. The other half of my brain is spiraling out of control, anger and frustration building up like a headache and begging for some kind of release. 

I sit in silence, imagining alternating scenarios: the first, I let Phil say he’s sorry, I listen to his excuses, I forgive him because I’m such a generous person. The second, he’s on his knees, begging for pity that I refuse to give him, and I’m shouting obscenities until I lose my voice. Neither of them makes me feel any better, but they both rely on a single crucial element that reality seems to be missing: Phil comes back.

In this scenario, he doesn’t.

An hour and a half later, I’m startled out of my head by a knock at my door, and some weird, twisted hope blooms in my chest. _Maybe he did come back._ But the knock is shortly accompanied by another, and another, and I exhale, utterly defeated. _Just PJ and Chris._ Sure enough, it’s already nine-thirty, and I stand slowly. I’m almost tempted to skip on the party as well, but something tells me this universe wouldn’t stand for it.

I barely stumble when PJ leaps at me, and I do my best to mirror his smile - I can feel the way it must look, though, and I doubt it’s convincing anyone.

I hang back even more than usual, feet dragging of their own accord, but Chris and PJ don’t seem to notice. _Hell, why would they care? Why would anyone?_ All my rage from earlier has been draped in a heavy black blanket, damping it and slowing everything down. When I enter the house, music comes through my ears muted and distant. 

I don’t even bother trying to find Cait - I know exactly where she’ll be, who she’ll be with - and, in spite of my overactive imagination earlier, I have no interest in interacting with Phil right now. So I wander off, wading through crowds of people until I find the abandoned closet I’d holed up in... _jesus, was that only yesterday? Well, yesterday-today..._ I cut my own thoughts off with a long breath, burying them under the black cover that’s hiding the rest of my emotions. _I can’t, right now. I just fucking can’t._

I ease myself to the floor, occupying the same little corner as before and leaning my head back against the wall. For a minute, I stare up at the ceiling, trying to discern shapes in the blackness, but I eventually give up and let my eyes drift shut.

_Too much. This is all too much._


	4. Fucking...DAY 1

I hear the room around me before I see it: a soft whooshing from the pipes that must crawl along the insides of the walls, faint rumbles sneaking in through the cracks from cars on the street, some muffled thumps that I have to assume are coming from someone outside the door. I hear myself next: the whooshing of air in my lungs, slow inhales and exhales, rumbling gurgles of my stomach, and the muffled thumps of my heartbeat in my chest, echoing into my ears.

All of which is very rudely interrupted by the ringing of my alarm.

With a groan, I reach over to my bedside table - _my fucking bedside table._ Apparently, this fucked up place doesn’t really care _where_ I fall asleep, it’ll just teleport me back into my bed the next morning. _Fan-fucking-tastic._ If I weren’t so busy being pissed off at the whole thing, I might have the time to think that it’s kind of cool. 

As it stands, though, my day is quite full of being angry. I throw my duvet off, standing and marching around my room for whatever shower shit I need. Minutes later, the hot water’s doing nothing to cool my head, and I end up stomping back to the room so loudly that I wake Chris.

“Wow, if this is how shit you look on the first day-” he’s grumbling at me, eyes squinted, but I cut him off.

“Yeah, I’ll look pretty shit by finals week, thanks,” I toss a middle finger over my shoulder, then slam my door shut behind me. I drop heavily to my bed, fully dressed, and stare at the ceiling, counting down the minutes. At ten past the hour, there’s a knock on my door.

“Hey mate, don’t you have class, like, now?” I exhale, blinking once at the ceiling, then stand. Without bothering to grab my bag, I fling the door open to find Chris standing there, looking a little shocked.

“Yeah, I do,” I agree, voice dripping with venom. I shove past him and into the hall, stalking toward the door. I can hear him mumble something under his breath, and I’m tempted to spin around and demand he say it to my face, but I frankly just can’t be bothered - the anger falls from my shoulders the moment after it arrives - _it’s not him I’m mad at_ \- and I just push out of the building and head off toward class.

I arrive exactly fifteen minutes late, slipping quietly into the empty seat near the back, and zone out for as long as I possibly can. _I don’t want to think about anything, I definitely don’t want to think about Phil._ But, as it always goes when trying to avoid thinking about something, that’s suddenly the only thing I _can_ think about. My eyes dart to the front row, where they lock with bright blue ones - I turn away quickly, focusing on my desk.

But not before I catch the grimace, the slight shake of the head that Phil gives me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was _angry._ _How dare he be angry at me? He has no reason, no_ right _!_ I scowl at the warped wood, crossing my arms. _I’ve done nothing wrong._ But confidence leaks out from the statement, and conviction turns to doubt in my stomach. _I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?_

I leave five minutes before class ends, easing the door open as quietly as possible in the hopes of effectively sneaking out unnoticed. I don’t dare peek behind me to see if it’s worked. _What did I do? Why is he mad?_ I try to say those questions in my head as indignantly as I can manage, but they only sound pathetic and pleading. _Why do I even care what he thinks?_ This one comes out properly angry, and I march out of the building on that sour note.

By the time I’m back in my dorm room, staring at the ceiling again, I’ve almost convinced myself that I don’t. _Really, I really really don’t care what he thinks. I don’t._ As if repeating it will push away the confusion. As if something like that has _ever_ worked.

I’ve decided to just follow the requisite events for the day, because it’s easier than fighting. I’m already warring with my own head, I don’t have the energy to fight with the entire universe as well. So I end up sat next to the old lady on the bus, heading to my other class for the day. 

Hearing her voice is...almost cathartic, somehow, and I lean back in the seat to listen to her talk. The conversation sounds more like it had on the first day, with someone shouting on the other end and her stern logic shutting them down. 

“It’s almost my stop, now, but you quit that kind of thinking. I don’t care what your judgment is, it’s probably wrong.” She hangs up the phone, silent as she settles back into the seat beside me. 

“Excuse me,” I sit forward, curiosity overwhelming me, “I hope this isn’t intrusive, but do you mind my asking who you were speaking to just now?” I’m turned halfway toward her, regretting my decision the moment she raises her eyebrows at me.

“Oh, not at all, dear,” she smiles, and I can’t help but smile back. “That was my lovely grandson, he’s so bright, has such wonderful ideas,” her eyes drift off, like she’s thinking about him, “but he can sometimes get a bit blinded,” she leans toward me conspiratorially and taps at her temple, “not the quickest to take in the entire picture before making a judgment.” 

“Right,” I nod, because I’m not sure what else to do or say. The bus jolts beneath us, and she glances at the window.

“My stop, dear, if you wouldn’t mind?” I stand, clearing the way for her to get out. Gray hair bobs on her head as she makes her way to the front of the bus, and I feel myself still smiling long after she’s left. 

\---------------------------

In fact, I can feel the ghost of a smile on my lips even after class, just thinking about how fond and positive that whole encounter had been. _Maybe I’ll say something else to her tomorrow,_ I consider, sitting down at the counter of the diner. When the waitress makes her way over, I order my cheeseburger - extra cheese, no pickles - and exhale slowly.

Unfortunately, it’s not long before Phil creeps back into my head, and my doubts resurface and crawl around in my chest like bugs. I’m no longer smiling by the time the huge group of people bursts into the place.

When I get a glimpse of Phil, taking his seat facing me, a sliver of hope claws its way out of my chest and into the open. _Maybe I misread this morning, he’s not mad, because_ surely _I didn’t do anything wrong._ I can’t remember when I stopped tacking on the ‘ _he’s the one that screwed us over_ ’ bit on the end, but I don’t bother with it now.

My food’s arrived, but I don’t even take a bite - instead, I dare a real, proper look at Phil: at first, he’s smiling and laughing with someone at the table, though he seems tense - _ready_ , I think, _to jump up and save that waitress again._ But it’s like my thoughts have drawn his attention, because a moment later he’s staring at me - _glaring_ , actually, might be a more fitting term. I chew at my lip, afraid to break the eye contact but also afraid _not_ to. 

_What else am I going to see, if I keep looking for too long? Hatred? Disappointment? Abandonment?_ These are all far scarier than simple anger; anger is one thing, it has a cause and a solution. But to think he might very well be _done_ with me - that the _only other person in this fucked up universe who’s as stuck as I am_ might want nothing more to do with me - is absolutely _terrifying_.

But I can’t _not_ know. My brain won’t allow it.

So I stare until he looks away first, relieved to find only irritation clear in his look. Relieved, but no better off than before - I still have no idea why he’s so mad. My eyes have drifted downward as I try to make sense of it, but they’re drawn back up then a flurry of movement catches my attention: the waitress trips, Phil catches her, the drinks stay put on the platter, and I frown.

 _I’ll ask him at the party why he’s so pissed off._ I scan the tables again, deciding now’s not really the best time - _I need to get him alone, not in front of a dozen other people_. With that, I stand; I realize as I rush through the door that I haven’t paid, but - to be fair - I haven’t actually eaten any of my food. _It’s not like it matters, anyway. The world will just reset itself tomorrow anyway._

I spend the next hour in my dorm room rehearsing how exactly I want to confront Phil, running through scenario after scenario in my head. Anger is my first instinct, but I realize after twenty minutes of imaginary shouting that there’s a reason people use the phrase ‘ _don’t fight fire with fire_ ’. Then, I try to breathe, calm myself, and be as clear and straightforward as possible. It still usually ends in yelling. Actually, rarely do the scenarios end in us _both_ yelling - Phil doesn’t seem the type - but I keep getting so frustrated that, even in these fictitious playthroughs, I’m pissed off by the end. 

Eventually, I collapse back on my bed.

“I’m literally getting nowhere,” I announce to the room around me, tugging at my hair then dragging my hands down my face. I don’t get to wallow in my continuous failure for long, though, because there’s an irritatingly familiar knock sounding at the door. “Yeah, just a sec,” I shout, checking my face in the mirror - it’s bright red, clearly I have absolutely no control over my emotions. 

I blow out a breath, resigned to accept my fate for the evening. _Not like anyone will actually remember if one awkward guy was embarrassingly flushed the entire party._ I guess being stuck in a hell-world that resets every night has some perks. I grimace, holding my hands to my cheeks for a moment before finally pulling the door open.

If either Chris or PJ notices my blush, they don’t mention it, and we make our way to the party in the usual Dan-is-third-wheeling way. Once again, I ditch them off the bat - they’ve yet to notice, and I briefly wonder if I could ever leave in such a way that they’d remark on it. But my attention is short, and I quickly refocus on finding Phil. _Shit._ The only time I can remember seeing him was at some point in the kitchen, on the first night, and then after the party outside.

 _Do I wait for him in one of those places, then?_ I twist my lips, pushing through the crowd. _But he’s not like the other people, he doesn’t behave the same way every time._ This gives me pause, and I’m suddenly grateful for my height - and Phil’s. I redirect my path toward the edge of the room, turning once I get to the wall and setting my head on a swivel. _If Phil’s here, I’ll be able to see him._ I shuffle over a bit, into a corner, so that I can see the front door as well. _And if he’s not arrived yet, I can see when he does_. 

From then on, I lean against the wall, watching the tops of heads for an increasingly-familiar shock of black fringe. I catch a few eyes - probably wondering what the hell I’m staring at - but none are the right shade of blue. 

For a while, nothing stands out, until a wavy brunette head makes its way past me, toward the kitchen. _Oh._ I’d entirely forgot Cait would be here. I expect a pang in my chest, or a tug, or really _anything_ to indicate the pain she put me through the first couple nights, but I come up empty. _It’s because I can’t focus on anything but finding Phil,_ I reason, _on finding out why he’s so mad at me._

A few moments later, the front door swings open. _Speak of the devil_. I push off the wall, shoving past half-drunk partygoers to catch Phil before he disappears. 

“Phil!” If he hears me, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “ _Phil_!” I try louder, but he doesn’t turn, heading down a hallway toward the kitchen. Afraid to draw too much attention - _though,_ I realize _, it’s not like anyone would care tomorrow_ \- I speed up my steps and grab Phil by the shoulder, spinning him with a force I really didn’t know my wimpy arms possessed.

“ _What_?” His voice is low, barely audible over the music thumping from the other room, and his eyes narrow at me. But he doesn’t walk away, which happened in at least four of my imagined scenarios, so I take it as a good sign.

“Why are you so fucking pissed at me?” It’s purely impulsive, using the tone to cope with my nerves. _Shit, anger did not go over well in my head_. I regret it the moment I say it, too, because he actually _scoffs_ at me. _This is going downhill very quickly_. 

“Why am I-” he pauses as a couple people pass, then looks around us warily. Then I’m being dragged by the wrist into the same hall were I’d holed up in my closet in these past few nights. But Phil doesn’t go there, just drags me down the corridor until the music is muffled and there’s nobody nearby.

“ _Why am I pissed?_ Are you actually- oh my god, you’re _actually_ serious, aren’t you?” His eyes widen, and he shakes his head, mouth parted. I don’t have words, I just stare right back, furrowing my brows. _What else would I be?_ I blink at him, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Forget it, I can’t do this,” he turns, but he _didn’t fucking answer me_ , and I reach out to drag him back.

“Of _course_ I’m serious, what the fuck is wrong with you?” My internal monologue is a chorus of cussing, because _I’m_ the one escalating things now, but I can’t help it. _He has to tell me!_ Now his mouth is dropped open in proper surprise, gaping at me like I’m the dumbest person to grace the planet. But the look is gone almost as soon as it appeared, wiped away and replaced with a mask of cool indifference.

“You only think of yourself, don’t you?” It’s rhetorical, so I shut my mouth. “You do _whatever_ you want, damn the consequences, as long as you feel better afterward,” my head shouts at my mouth to jump in, because _I never feel better_ , but I squeeze my lips together - that would be far too personal to say out loud. Besides, Phil isn’t done.

“Maybe, just _once_ , you should take some responsibility for your actions instead of blaming everyone else for your problems.” With that, he spins on his heel, yanking his arm from my now-loose grip and stalking off down the hall. _Well. I was right, he’s not one to yell_. The entire interaction had been in words full of force, but Phil hadn’t raised his voice. 

He also hadn’t given me the chance to speak, which is suddenly feeling incredibly unfair. I rush off down the hall after him, words of my own bubbling up in my throat and demanding to be heard. I don’t find him in the living room, though - I had to scan six times just to be sure - and he’s not in the kitchen, or any of the hallways, and I even dared to check the bedrooms (one of which held Cait and her mystery frat bro, though I was far too frustrated to care).

I end up outside the house, because he has to leave the party at _some_ point, right? The words I want to say have been sitting on my tongue the whole time, and it feels thick and heavy; I try to swallow, but they clog in my throat, weigh down my chest and lungs, and I find myself gasping in the cool air, desperate for relief.

When it comes, it’s in the form of a sob, and _oh fucking hell, of course I’m stood outside the house crying again_. But it’s just _not fair_ \- not fair that Phil got to say his piece but wouldn’t let me say mine, that Phil’s even _mad_ to begin with, and that he wouldn’t say what he thinks I’ve done wrong, and _not fucking fair_ that I have to be trapped in a hell universe with a guy who hates me for no reason.

I sit heavily on the grass, cold and wet under me, but it doesn’t fucking _matter_ because as soon as I fall asleep, I’ll be back in my bed and ready to face another day of torture. I stare at my hands until they blur in front of me, and it takes a few seconds to realize it’s because there are tears welling up in my eyes. _Fuck all this shit._

I look up when a heavy sigh sounds from the front steps, apparently attached to the lips of none other than Phil Lester. Who has the audacity to give me a look full of _pity_ , as if _he’s_ not the cause of this. I do my best to glare through tear-soaked vision, though I imagine I must look like an absolute mess - Phil, on the other hand, looks as good as ever, hair perfectly straight across his forehead, a bright blue button down that matches his eyes, and black jeans, and he doesn’t seem flustered or upset or really _anything_ other than...disappointed. _Why does he look so disappointed?_ My glare falters, and I eventually drop my eyes to my lap.

“What, come to tell me off again?” I can hear the breaking in my voice, but I can’t be bothered to care. “Go on, then,” I wave a shaky hand in his direction, waiting for another verbal lashing. “Wait,” I’m surprised when his steps actually pause, about halfway between me and the house. “Let me guess,” I tap at my chin theatrically, trying to ignore the tears that leak from the corners of my eyes and leave streaks down my face. “I’m a loser piece of shit who’s too stupid to pass a class himself, too lazy to bother making an effort, and too unmotivated to make anything of himself, right? Oh, and awkward, incompetent, and an all-round failure, may as well add that on for good measure. Have I missed anything?” I look up, fixing him with a hard stare and fighting the next wave of tears that threatens to spill over.

Phil’s silent, mouth parted just slightly and eyes flicking back and forth like he’s trying to work out what to say. Hell, I’m actually curious what he’ll come up with - though it’s not like it can beat what my own head reminds me of on a regular basis. I watch as his jaw sets and he takes a few tentative steps toward me, but…

“Phil!” I try to stand the moment he collapses, but a wave of dizziness sends me back to the ground in a heap - I have no idea where it came from, I haven’t even been drinking, but I can’t do anything other than watch as the blades of grass in front of me are swallowed by a vignette of blackness.


	5. Shockingly, Day 1

I sit up with a start, heart pounding in my chest and breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps - the last thing I remember is collapsing, and _Phil_ collapsing, but I’m just sat in my bed now. _I hope Phil’s okay_. I frown at the thought, then exhale slowly - I may hate the guy, but I wouldn’t wish any actual harm on him; that would be low, even for me. 

My alarm hasn’t gone off yet - still ten minutes to go - so I switch it off and lean against my headboard, trying to figure out what might’ve caused the sudden collapse. _Maybe...what if it was some Cinderella bullshit, the clock struck midnight and we were forced to sleep so everything could reset?_ This seems logical enough - if I’m suspending logic for the sake of understanding the fucked-up universe we’re stuck in - so I roll with it. 

The rest of the evening comes back in waves - mostly frustration, anger, shouting or wanting to shout, and I tilt my head back til I’m staring at the ceiling. _Why am I so damn hot-headed?_ I couldn’t even get a straight answer from Phil as to why he’s been so pissed at me, I was too blinded by rage. _Today I’ll be better,_ I promise myself.

I blink when a knock sounds at my door - it’s frantic and erratic, nothing like the knocks I’ve come to expect from Chris about this time in the morning. _Wait..._ I check my phone again, then frown at the door - it’s _far_ too early for Chris to come threatening me about missing class.

“Hello?” I call, tentative in case this is some bizarre curveball the universe has decided to throw my way.

“Dan? Oh my god, are you okay?” My eyebrows skyrocket up my forehead, because that’s _Phil’s_ voice. _Why is he here?_ Is my immediate reaction, shortly followed by a bitter _I thought he didn’t care._ “Can I come in? I mean, are you, like-” I cut him off, cheeks flushing with heat. 

“Yeah, no, I’m fine, uh, hold on, the door’s locked,” I do a quick scan of my room, just to be sure there’s nothing embarrassing sitting out - _why do I care?_ \- before inching the door open.

Phil’s stood there looking incredibly flustered and a bit like he just sprinted across campus - hell, he’s still in his pajamas, and his hair sticks up at odd angles, not molded into the perfectly situated fringe I’ve come to expect. 

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” is somehow the first thing I think to say, because I didn’t - he must wear contacts, but I like the way the glasses frame his face and draw attention to his eyes. _Excuse me, I what now?_

“Oh, uh...yeah? Are you gonna let me in?” My eyes go wide, because I’ve just been standing with the door cracked open and staring at this unusually disheveled Phil. I jump back, giving him space to come inside. I watch him as he scans my room, and I’m nervous for no real reason; when he nods, my shoulders relax.

“Okay,” I shove my weird feelings into a back corner of my mind to dissect and deal with later, “what happened last night? I mean, I think I have an idea, but it hasn’t happened to me before, so…” I trail off as he turns around, twisting his lips at me.

“Midnight, I think,” I nod and take a deep breath, glad to have the confirmation. But mentioning last night has me pacing the room, and I can’t meet Phil’s gaze.

“You never really said…” I stop, frowning, and restart. “Why are you mad at me?” I try to scrunch my eyebrows, put some force behind the words, but they come out whiney and frustrated. My cheeks warm, so I keep up my pacing, hoping Phil won’t notice. I’m expecting an outburst, like last night, but all I get is a defeated sigh and the creaking of springs as Phil sits on my bed.

“Your review,” I stiffen, shame coursing through my bloodstream - pissed that I’d failed my class last semester and desperate to blame _someone_ , I tore Phil apart on his review as a TA. Hell, I’d even convinced _myself_ that everything had been his fault, though I _know_ I didn’t make as much of an effort as I should’ve. I dare a glance in his direction, but his face is devoid of any emotion. “I was up for a grant for my research, and they passed me over.” _As if I couldn’t feel any worse about it, great._ “I thought I had it, but they pulled out at the last second and gave the money to someone else,” he glances at me, “the timing coincided suspiciously with the posting of your review,” I have to turn away. _Wow, I’m just a huge piece of shit, aren’t I?_

“I didn’t...realize,” I mumble at the floor - there’s no way I can meet Phil’s gaze right now. _Okay,_ I concede, _maybe I’m not the only person this universe is a living hell for._ The silence in the room becomes uncomfortably loud, pricking at my ears and demanding something be said. Hell, I know _exactly_ what needs to be said, but I can’t bring myself to say it. _It’s my fault, in a way, I should be able to say I’m sorry._ But the words get stuck on my tongue.

“So, it’s agreed we’re both pissed at each other. Truce?” Phil startles me from my nervous pacing, sticking out a hand. I lift an eyebrow, both surprised and a little intrigued - _how is he not immensely furious right now?_ I would be - hell, I _was_ , and probably still should be...but I place my hand in his, which is absolutely _freezing_ , and we shake.

I jump and pull back when a knock sounds at the door - much more leisurely than Phil’s had been - and I realize it must be Chris. 

“Hey, you up? Don’t you have class?” The voice confirms it, and I roll my eyes when Phil gives me a questioning look.

“Yeah, I’m up, I’ll be on my way in a minute,” I call through the door, and Phil stands from the bed.

“Guess that’s my cue, I’d better get to class. See you there?” He offers, but hesitates, like he might be thinking of saying something else. Then he shakes his head, once and sharply, and walks over to the door. When his hand reaches for the doorknob, an idea sparks in my head.

“Maybe, uh, we should just walk together?” I offer, biting my lip the moment I say it - _just because we’re in some kind of armistice doesn’t mean we have to be friendly. Doesn’t mean I should_ want _us to be friendly._ “Just, like, we’re going to the same place,” my voice deflates, realizing how stupid the whole thing sounds. _Besides, who knows what this universe wants, if walking together would break the rules._

“Right, actually, good idea!” He spins on a heel, nodding, “we can compare notes, see if anything stands out about the repeat-days,” Phil’s voice sounds oddly enthusiastic, but I suppose he has a point - _at least he has a reason for agreeing, I literally have no idea why I suggested it..._

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” I lie, though I can feel my face heating. “Uhh, do you mind waiting outside, though?” I scan my sweatpants and t-shirt, then frown when I remember what he’s still wearing. 

“Oh,” he nods, then recognizes his own clothing problem. _I’m sure emoji pajamas are comfy, but definitely not the kind of thing you’d want to wear to class._ “Maybe I should, uh, go change and just meet you there?” Phil says, hiking a thumb over his shoulder toward the door. My brain scrambles for anything to say that would prevent him leaving. _Wow, when did this happen? Am I_ that _desperate for company in this weird universe?_

“You can just borrow something of mine,” I offer quickly - _yeah, apparently I am that desperate._ Phil frowns, eyeing me up and down before he nods. I can’t figure out why his look has me so flustered, but I put it down to general nerves. _Oh, surely he was just checking that my clothes would fit him._

I return his look, confirming that fact for myself with a quick assessment of his body, before digging in a drawer and pulling out two pairs of black jeans. I don’t really look at which they are, tossing one toward him and gesturing for him to turn around so I can put my own on. I don’t move until he smirks and spins around, and I watch him for an extra second just to be sure he’s not fucking with me.

Apparently, he isn’t, because it takes him half a second to drop his own pajama pants to the floor, and my eyes bug out before I manage the mental capacity to turn around myself. In a desperate attempt to get that picture out of my head - because _fuck_ I do not want to deal with that right now - I swap my own pants for jeans. _Oh thank god, I didn’t give him the soft ones._ I really hadn’t paid any attention when pulling random jeans from my drawer.

“Hey,” Phil says, and I turn to find him staring at my wardrobe, flicking through the shirts I have hung there. “Do you mind if I…” he pulls one out, a yellow plaid one, and looks back over his shoulder; I shrug. _May as well, I guess._ Though I’m perfectly satisfied with my rumpled t-shirt, I decide to fish in another drawer and pull out an oversized jumper, since it _is_ a bit chilly out _._

As I turn back around, pulling the sweater over my head and shirt, I nearly choke on air - the sharp planes of Phil’s back are exposed, just for a moment, before the button down covers them. I desperately _desperately_ hope that the noise got stuck in my throat and stayed there - if Phil notices, he doesn’t say a word, only facing me once he’s fastening the last button.

At which point, I have to chew on my lip to stop another inappropriate sound - _where the fuck are all these reactions coming from?_ Apparently, I’d grabbed Phil my one pair of ripped black jeans, and it’s a war in my head to bury all the thoughts that bubble to the surface. _Absolutely not allowed, he is and will always be my enemy_. The words echo back in my mind, sounding hollow and empty.

“Ready?” Phil’s just staring at me - I must _look_ ready, because he makes his way over to the door and pulls it open. It’s only once it’s almost shut behind him that I lunge forward, grabbing the handle and following him out into the hall.

“Oi- oh!” I groan at Chris’ voice from the lounge - he must’ve already seen Phil, and he’s smart enough to recognize that there’s only one room he could’ve come from. _Please don’t say anything. Tell me I look like shit so we can get on with the day._ I’m only a few steps behind Phil, and _thank fuck_ Chris keeps his mouth shut - but he gives me a knowing look and an exaggerated wink, and I roll my eyes, face flushing hot. When I push out of the building behind Phil, an unbridled laugh echoes behind me.

“Buddy of yours?” Phil’s slowed now, so I can catch up, and we’re walking along the pavement at the same pace. I duck my head, _seriously_ hoping Phil didn’t catch any of what Chris was insinuating.

“Yeah,” I mumble, “anyway, it’s only a few minutes to class, let’s at least try to get a timeline for our days,” I redirect. _Please just drop it, that was far too embarrassing._ Fortunately, he just shrugs and gestures at me, so I give a quick recap of what my day typically looks like, then wait for him to do the same.

“That’s really sweet, about that old lady,” I glance over, but he’s just smiling at the path ahead of us, “she sounds nice.” Because he’s not looking, I don’t feel the need to turn away. “So my day…” he starts off, and I smirk at his theatrical renditions, even of objectively boring events like sitting in the communications lab for hours. 

“So…” I interrupt, aware we’re about to reach the building and I likely won’t be able to bring this up if I don’t do it now. “When we were in the lab the other day, who exactly were you talking to, when you were on the phone?” I wince at my word choice, because technically it was just a different iteration of today, but Phil doesn’t seem to care - well, he _does_ , but not about my word choice.

“Oh, my grandma, she’s psychic.” He says the absurd statement with such conviction that I actually laugh, then slap a hand over my mouth - we’ve just walked into the building, and my outburst earns us a few unamused glares from the students sat around in the entrance.

Apparently, Phil doesn’t feel the need to elaborate, and we push through the doors to the auditorium; I barely hesitate before following him down to his usual spot in the front row. The entire lecture is spent passing notes back and forth, mostly about different observations we’ve made on the structure of the days, until Phil gets distracted and starts doodling along the edge of the page.

For the first time since the end of last semester, I don’t feel a bubble of hatred in my chest looking at Phil - it’s not that the feeling isn’t there, because if I think on it for too long, it definitely surfaces, but it’s not my immediate reaction to seeing him. Slowly, carefully, I peek into the box inside my head where I’ve stored away everything related to Phil other than irritation: I let myself look for about two seconds before shoving the lid back on and pushing the whole thing into a forgotten corner. _I definitely cannot deal with that right now._

Instead, I watch the way his pen makes strange, interesting lines on the paper until a collective rustling around the auditorium signals the end of class. Phil looks up, like he’s just remembering where we are, then glances over at me. I lean back, aiming for a casual, spaced-out gaze that only refocuses when he nudges me.

“Class is over,” he points out, and we both stand; Phil seems to be making a point of waiting for me, so I walk beside him on the way out of the auditorium. We’re both silent until we leave the building, and I can’t tell if it’s awkward or not. _What on earth is going on?_

Phil pauses as we hit the pavement - he’s required to be in the labs, and I could theoretically join him. But my brain is working on overdrive, and I can’t really think straight.

“Do you want to-” Phil starts, tilting his head at me, but I don’t let him finish.

“I, uh, actually, I’m gonna head to my room for a bit,” I rush the words out, and he frowns for half a second before smoothing out his expression and nodding, but I feel bad. _Why?_ “I’m just...tired,” I offer by way of explanation, grimacing the moment I turn around - Phil makes some noise behind me, but I can hear his feet as he heads off in the direction of the communications building. _Fuck, I really do not want to have to think right now._

I manage to keep my own brain at bay for the length of time it takes to return to my dorm, but everything hits like a tidal wave as soon as I’m in my room, and I slam the door behind me. 

Much to Chris’ chagrin, as he kindly shouts through the door “not to break things on the first day, mate” - something about that reminder, that today is _still_ today, despite the fact that it’s literally been almost five of these days, sends me face-planting onto my mattress with a groan.

 _Why is everything so complicated?_ I stare at my pillow until my eyes cross, intent on dissecting every event that’s taken place since the first day in the hopes of uncovering some secret, the key to the whole situation. It takes approximately three minutes of this for my mind to land on Phil, and then I’m just dissecting every interaction we’ve had. Then everything I know about him. Cautiously, I drag the mental Phil box from the corner of my mind, examining it from the outside. I frown into my pillow, unsure if I’m ready to handle this.

 _I’m being childish._ I groan, burying my face deeper into the pillow and shoving the box back into the corner of my head - yes, I _am_ being childish, but it’s far easier to be angry than acknowledge whatever else I might feel for Phil. _I don’t_ want _to feel anything else for Phil!_ It’s petulant and silly, but if I just _give up_ all my anger, then what will I have? I’ll just have blame for myself. If I have to feel anything else for Phil, then I also have to feel _guilty_ and _bad_ and I _just don’t want to._

I squeeze my eyes shut until I see stars, then blink them open until my vision clears. With a heavy sigh, I reach for my phone, then scramble up from my bed when I notice the time. _Only two minutes to catch the bus._ I’m out the door without a word, nearly running past the lounge.

“Party tonight, you in?” Chris calls from behind me, and I stick a thumbs-up over my head on my way out, not stopping to make sure he saw. I just manage to catch the bus before it leaves, sinking into my spot beside the older woman with a heavy sigh of relief.

“Well, dear, I’m glad you’re looking at the bigger picture,” I frown at her words, confused by this development in the story. _Normally, this guy - her grandson? - is frustrated, and she’s scolding him, I wonder what happened?_ This time, she’s off the phone earlier than usual, and we sit in silence before I feel the urge to break it.

“Excuse me, I hope I’m not intruding,” I use the same words, since they got a positive reaction the last time, “but could I ask for some advice?” I bite my lip, but she reminds me of my grandma - level-headed and blunt, but inevitably _right_ \- and I could really use the help. Besides, I feel some strange connection with her.

“Oh! Of course, dear, what’s on your mind?” She gives me a small smile, and my shoulders immediately relax - I hadn’t even realized they were tense. 

“I’m...stuck, I guess.” I try to put the thoughts into words that make sense, preferably without revealing the exact bizarreness of the universe. “And I don’t know why, or how to get... _un_ stuck,” I glance up from where my eyes have drifted down to my lap, but the woman is just nodding, encouraging me to continue. “And, I guess, I’m stuck inside my head, too,” she tilts her head back knowingly. 

“Let me guess,” she starts, “things are confusing and complicated, a ball of yarn that gets so tangled you can’t manage to straighten it out?” I bite my lip, because that’s _exactly_ it, metaphorically speaking - too many strings in too many different directions, and I’m not sure where to start or which to pull. “Dear,” her hand lands on mine, patting it gently, “most of the time, the ball of yarn is just a ball of yarn, don’t let your head turn it into a tangled mess when it isn’t one.” I frown. _I’m not..._ but I drop my eyes. _Maybe I_ am _complicating it._

“Don’t think too hard on it, dearie, and you’ll find everything has a much simpler solution than you’re imagining,” the bus jolts to a stop below us, and I step out to let her pass without her asking. _I’m not thinking too hard, am I? It’s a puzzle, whatever’s happening, and I have to think in order to solve it, right? Find the patterns and untangle the string…_

 _And now I’m overthinking her advice about not overthinking,_ I frown, dropping back to my seat heavily. By the time I’m sat in my classroom, I’m determined to do my damndest to turn off my brain for the duration of the class - but it’s _so fucking long_ , it only takes an hour before my thoughts drift back to this situation, to _Phil_. 

And really, _really_ , I’m trying not to overthink anything. But my head keeps drawing the same half-conclusions about what’s going on, hitting on the same points that I do and don’t know, coming up short and stuck on the things that don’t seem to make any sense. 

And I am _definitely_ overthinking that box in the corner of my head. _I don’t want to open it, because then I have to actually_ do _something about it_. The thought is terrifying, though I know - objectively - that an apology isn’t the end of the world. _But then there’s the guilt, the feeling like shit for being a horrible person to Phil, the acceptance of my own role in failing my class_ …

All of these things, I know, aren’t that bad - but for some reason, in the context of the situation, I’m faced with the fear that Phil might just...hate me. Or worse, be entirely apathetic. _And then where would I be?_ It’s the closest I’ll allow myself to acknowledging the contents of the box in my head.

\---------------------------

I stop outside the diner after class, debating whether or not to enter - after about two minutes of going back and forth, the old woman’s voice pops into my head and reminds me that I _really_ need to stop overthinking things; I push through the front door, making my way to the counter. The group isn’t there yet, as expected, but my foot bounces impatiently as I give my order and wait. 

When the obnoxious echoing of fifteen different voices bounces around behind me, I whip around - I spot Phil easily; he’s laughing at something, tongue poking out between his teeth. Then his eyes lock with mine, and the grin fades to a soft smile, and a tiny spark strikes in my chest. _Maybe this isn’t as complicated as I’m making it._

Heat radiates from the spark and out to my cheeks, so I avert my gaze, focusing intently on the red-lacquered countertop in front of me.

I nearly jump out of my skin when a warm body takes the seat beside me, and I glance up to see Phil, chin propped up on his elbows - he’s still smiling, just a little, and I offer a quick smile back. My heart’s beating too fast in my chest.

“Did you get some rest?” His eyebrows arch, and mine scrunch in response. _Oh._ I’d ditched him earlier under the excuse of being tired. I scoff.

“No,” I chuckle, “I didn’t.” Just considering _how much_ I didn’t rest, I shake my head, then drop it to the counter. “I _really_ didn’t,” I mumble into my arms, then sit back when a cleared throat startles me; the waitress sets my food down, and I’m suddenly ravenous. _I need something to fuel all this brain activity._

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Phil falls quiet beside me as I take another bite. Because I’m awkward and my mouth is full of food, I slide the plate of chips toward him in a silent offer. He smiles at me, grabbing one and tossing it into his mouth, and I feel fucking _giddy._ _Never thought he’d be smiling because of me._

We sit in an oddly comfortable silence for the next minute, until a loud clattering startles us both.

“Oh god,” Phil swallows his bite, “the waitress!” I watch him jump to his feet, helping the girl from the ground; I’m frozen, though, just like the last time. And just like last time, she’s touchy, flirty, beaming at Phil. I swallow, hoping the food will cover the feeling in my gut that I really don’t want to identify.

But unlike last time, Phil pulls away - he doesn’t offer his phone, she doesn’t kiss his cheek; he just steps back and gives her a tight smile and a nod. The abysmal pit in my stomach bubbles up into something light and feathery. 

“What, didn’t want her number this time around?” I hope it sounds teasing, though I’m very much waiting for his response, holding my breath. _His_ cheeks flush red - _funny, that’s usually me_ \- and he huffs out a laugh.

“Nah, not my type,” my heart actually flutters in my chest when his eyes slide sideways for just a moment, but he’s quickly focused on the napkin holder in front of him. _Do not overthink it do not overthink it do not overthink it_. I chant in my head until the words lose meaning, and then I overthink it anyway. Despite every bone in my body telling me not to, I glance over, setting my burger on my plate to be forgotten.

“And, uh, what exactly _is_ your type?” His eyebrows arch up his forehead, but I turn before he can catch me watching him. _Why did I ask that, it did not sound nearly as casual as it had in my head, fuck_. Attempting to at least _look_ casual, I pick up a chip and poke it around on my plate, breath held again as I wait for an answer.

“I bet you’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” Phil’s voice starts out teasing, but ends on a hint of wonder, like he’s just discovered something. _Fuck._ My jaw drops of its own accord, and I scramble to pick it up and come up with an equally witty response. 

Apparently, it doesn’t matter, because he’s already standing and walking toward the door, and I stare at the back of his head until it’s disappeared.

\--------------------------

“I am royally screwed,” I announce to my room, pulling a shirt from the ground - it’s a simple black one I’ve picked up and discarded three times in the past hour. “Royally. Fucking. Screwed.” I hold it up, frowning at my reflection in the mirror, then drop it again.

Then bend down to grab it, tugging it over my head and running a hand through my hair - it’s disheveled, sticking up and fluffy, but I know I don’t have time to straighten it. When a knock sounds at my door, I groan, grabbing my phone and shoving it in my pocket. Then I step back in front of the mirror, scrutinizing my appearance. Until there’s another sharp knock.

“Yeah, Peej, I’m coming, hold on,” I run my hand through my hair a final time, then pull the door open and squeeze my eyes shut, expecting the familiar tackle-hug. When it doesn’t come, I open a single eye cautiously.

“Uhh, I- sorry, I didn’t realize you were expecting someone,” Phil’s stood there, shuffling uncomfortably, and both my eyes go wide.

“Oh! Uh, usually my friends, but I can...uh, tell them to just meet me there?” I pull out my phone, stepping out toward Phil. Evidently, he wasn’t expecting it, because he moves just a second too late, and there’s a single terrifying moment where we’re stood an inch apart.

The moment is broken as soon as it happens, though, and we’re heading down the hall while I text Chris and PJ that we’re on the way to the party. It would seem that our brief pushing of boundaries at my door has used up all our closeness for the evening, because we keep an awkwardly large distance between us as we walk. 

_What happened? Why was that a thing? Hell,_ was _it even a thing? Or am I the only one who thinks it was a thing?_ Thoughts whir in my head, filling the relative silence around us. Phil’s quiet, but I couldn’t guess why. Frankly, I’m too focused on my own mind to worry about his.

 _Stop overthinking._ I stumble up the steps to the house, that single phrase pushing through with crystal clarity and sending a shock through all my muscles. At the same time, a hand grabs my arm, preventing a full face-plant onto the porch.

“Are you alright?” Phil’s stood a step above me, and fire burns out from his hand across my skin. _Fuck, I would very much like more of that fire_. Apparently, my brain has decided to take ‘not overthinking’ to mean ‘fuck it, don’t bother controlling your thoughts anymore’.

“Yeah, I am, just...lost my balance,” I mumble, staring at him for far too long; his hand falls to his side and he dips his head, turning toward the door. I wonder if the red on his cheeks is from the colorful party lights. I know the red on mine certainly isn’t.

By the time I catch up with Phil, limbs finally agreeing to function and propel me forward, he’s already halfway through the room. It’s not as crowded yet - we’re a bit earlier than I usually arrive - so I don’t have to push past quite as many people to get to the open kitchen in the back.

Phil’s pouring something into a cup when I approach; I hang back, still unsure what’s going on here. _Is there a thing? Am I making it a thing? Does Phil want it to be a thing?_ I’m reeling just _considering_ everything I don’t know, eyes glazing over as I watch clear liquid fall into a second cup. It takes a few seconds for the action to register, at which point, Phil’s handing me the drink.

“Better not be trying to drug me,” I choke the words out with a laugh, because I don’t know what else to do, and take the cup. And down half of it in one go - it’s far sweeter than anything I’d ever make, but not bad. And it allows me to ingest the alcohol more quickly, so I’m not complaining. _Maybe that’ll make my brain stop freaking out._

Phil just laughs, taking a sip of his own drink, and I find myself watching his lips as they press to the rim. It seems as if some god of temptation is set on smiting me, because Phil licks the remaining liquor from those lips and glances my way with a smirk.

“What reason could I possibly have to do that?” I’m still mesmerized by his lips, and I have to tear my eyes away to focus on what he just said. Which makes very little sense in the wake of everything swirling around in my head.

“What?” Is all I manage, taking another sip to ground me; a bitter bite chases the fruity sweetness, and it helps me recall my original comment. “Oh, I mean, I kinda fucked up your chance at a research grant,” I throw out, which is such a stupid thing to say and immediately sours my mood. This time, the drink on my tongue does little to improve the flavor.

“That’s true,” Phil chuckles, and I look up - that’s not the reaction I expected, but his eyes are bright and he’s leaning back against the counter with a smirk on his lips. I must be staring, because he lifts an eyebrow. “To be fair,” he concedes, tilting his drink at me, “I _did_ make you fail, so we should be even now.” 

I know, I _know_ it’s a joke, a quip after my own sardonic comment, but it’s like poking at an infected wound - all my bitterness, my frustration, my anger comes oozing out and saturates my brain. 

“Yeah, you fucking well did, didn’t you?” I hiss, slamming my drink on the table and marching off. At first, I’m not sure where I’m going, but my feet lead me to the closet I’ve come to know and love. After a quick scan of my surroundings to be sure Phil hasn’t followed me, I slip inside and drop to the floor.

I want the darkness to calm me, but all it does is drag out and illuminate what a childish and unnecessary reaction that was. _Why am I such a mess?_ I can’t take a fucking joke, I’m holding a grudge for something that I can only really blame myself for, and I’ve just gone and yelled at a guy I’m apparently into because I refuse to acknowledge my own shortcomings. _If there was ever a shot he might’ve liked me, I’ve definitely ruined it._

I curl up into the smallest ball I can manage, laying my head on my knees and letting tears drip down onto my jeans. _Fuck, can I just sleep already?_


	6. day1day1day1day1day1

The next several days - _the same fucking days, over and over_ \- pass in a blur of “you look like shit” and “wherefore art thou” and bus rides and burgers and chips and drinking myself to sleep in the closet at the party. It’s routine, it’s boring, it’s slowly killing me.

I see Phil every single day, but I keep my distance - I show up late to class and leave early, I stay in my room when I can, I sneak away the moment I arrive at the party to hide until I manage to fall asleep. He gave me a look on the first day, eyes wide with pity, and I just _couldn’t_.

If I had been overthinking things before, now I’m not thinking at all - instead of churning through thoughts until I can’t think straight, I let them all sit and simmer in a noxious bath of guilt and self-hatred and fear. I’m pretty sure I look as shit as I feel.

And nobody notices. Nobody cares. Except Phil, and his stupid sympathetic looks - I catch them whenever I can’t fully avoid him, and I always answer them with a hard glare that I don’t mean but can’t control. And then I run away and hide, because it’s easier than facing the guilt that swirls in my stomach when I see him, when I have to remember what a shitty person I was to him. 

“Now, dear, I know you’re frustrated, but you just have to be patient,” the old woman’s voice floats around in my head, chasing away my thoughts for a little. This is the only halfway-decent part of my days, listening to this comforting lady talk to her grandson. Lately, the guy’s been more quiet on the other end, but I don’t try very hard to hear him anyway.

“Well if you aren’t talking, then you can’t know what’s going on in his head. Just be there when he comes around,” I frown; they’ve been talking about someone else quite a lot - I assume the same ‘he’ that the grandson had been so upset about the first few days - and the woman always advises patience. _I wonder what that’s about._ It’s nice to focus on someone else’s problems instead of mine for a while.

“I understand, but if that’s how _you_ feel, imagine how lonely he must be feeling. He just needs time,” this is a new bit of information, and I tuck it away in my head. _Maybe an ex? Or someone he’s fighting with?_ I consider this angle - the passionate yelling from other days might make sense, if he’d been fighting with someone. 

“ _Philip Michael Lester, you just be patient and wait for him to come around!_ ” My eyes widen, and I lean back heavily against the headrest. _Surely, surely I did not hear what I think I just heard._ I can’t blink, I can’t _breathe_ , and suddenly all the puzzle pieces are fitting together in a terrifyingly perfect image of what’s going on.

“Excuse me dear, this is my stop,” the old woman taps at my shoulder, and I stare at her for a full three seconds before my muscles finally respond and move for her to get off the bus.

 _Phil is...but, what?_ I stay stood up until my stop, moving like a zombie down the steps and across the pavement to my building. I sink down in a chair in the back of the room with a thud, gears still whirring in my head - _was he- is he talking about_ me _?_ For a single horrible moment, I wonder if it was someone else, but it makes far too much sense, everything fits _too_ perfectly for there to be another explanation, another person.

 _Fuck._ I’ve been a completely shit person - this _entire_ time, ignoring Phil had been my way of refusing to deal with the fear and pain of having him possibly decide to ignore _me_. I’ve _literally_ been putting him through everything I’ve been trying to avoid. With a groan, I drop my head to my hands, elbows pressed against the hard surface of my desk. _How the fuck am I supposed to fix this?_

The answer, of course, is blindingly obvious. 

I stand from my seat an hour before the lecture ends and set off toward my dorm - I don’t have the emotional stability to deal with this in front of an audience. Fortunately, the universe doesn’t seem inclined to send me back to class, and I’m locked inside my room after half an hour. 

I take a deep breath, staring at my bed before laying down; I’m slow and cautious, as if moving too quickly will release all my pent-up feelings before I’m ready. By the time I’m settled, creaking of springs under me finally quieting, I reach inside my head for this Phil-box - it’s a silly name, but it makes more sense than ‘that box with all my fucked up emotions that are even remotely tied to Phil’, so I stick with it. I close my eyes, digging into it and unpacking it carefully.

I start with the largest problem: guilt. Guilt for pinning my failure on Phil, and all the fallout from it. I roll it around for a moment, squirming at the discomfort before admitting the solution I’ve known since day one - I have to apologize. Properly apologize. And offer to help fix it, if I can. _I don’t know if that review can be taken down, though._ I resolve to do some research. With a sigh, I set that aside, still uncomfortable but a little lighter for having a solution.

The next issue is smaller, but more painful, because there’s no easy way to neutralize it: my own failure. It’s procrastination, lack of understanding, _fear_ of failure, and avoiding my issues all wrapped up in a neat package, and I almost toss it back into the box and shove it back in the corner. _I really don’t want to think about this._

But an image of Phil flashes in my head, bright and laughing, then sorrowful and drained - _that’s my fault._ Guilt prods me in the shoulder, and I push my head back farther into my pillow. _Fine. Fine. Let’s deal with this._

 _Help. I need to ask for help._ I grimace at the idea of anyone knowing how much of a disappointment I am, and another picture of Phil pops into my head. _It’s not like he doesn’t already know._ I resolve to ask, at least. _I bet I can bug Chris and PJ into keeping me motivated, I’ll just keep my reasons vague._ It’s close enough to a solution, and a tightness in my chest releases just a little.

The last issue I pull from the box slowly, not because it’s heavy or painful but because it’s the exact opposite: delicate, light, glowing. _Fuck, it couldn’t be simple, could it?_ No, on top of all this stupid drama with Phil, I have to actually _like_ him, like _properly_ like him. And with that, naturally, comes the fear of rejection. _What am I supposed to do if he doesn’t feel the same?_ I feel a pit open in my stomach just considering it, but the lovely glowing light from this particular problem reminds me that _what if he does feel the same?_ _And what if I don’t do anything about it?_

Fear of loss wars with fear of rejection for a full minute, until my thoughts wander into the territory they’d been in the last time we spoke - the territory of lips and flushed cheeks and bright blue eyes and a hand on my skin and fire from everything but the alcohol. _If there’s even a chance, I want that._

I sit up in my bed with a start, swinging my legs over and to the floor and standing so quickly my vision turns hazy for a moment. Then I’m at my desk, writing all my thoughts on the back of an old syllabus until it’s a mess of chicken scratch and crossed-out words and arrows and underlines. 

At some point, I actually sit down in my chair, but I can’t remember when and I honestly can’t be bothered to care; I read over everything, mouth moving along with the words to commit them to memory. As I scan the page, I pull out my phone to check the time - _okay, I haven’t missed it._ Rationally - or irrationally? - I _know_ I haven’t, because the universe wouldn’t let me. But I have some time.

Paper in one hand, I run through the words and brush a hand absently over the shirts in my closet. My eyes only register one - bright yellow plaid is something I’d normally never wear, but Phil had. _Is that weird, that I want to wear it now?_ I decide I’ve done enough overthinking for the day and pull it out, setting my paper aside and pulling my t-shirt off over my head. As I shrug the new shirt over my shoulders, my fingers fumble with the buttons, nerves finally catching up with what I’m about to do. 

I stare at myself in the mirror, scanning my appearance for anything out of place - a knock at my door corresponds with the sudden mortifying realization that I haven’t straightened my hair; it’s been ages since I last did, and I’m so used to the messy look that I didn’t even think to fix it. 

“Shit, uh, yeah, one second!” I shout at the door, running a hand frantically through the fluffy curls - they’re far from tame, but it’ll have to do. PJ hugs me at the door, and we’re off in an awkward triangle. I spend the brief walk running through everything I want to say to Phil, practicing the words silently in the cool night air. It doesn’t do much for my nerves, and I’m tempted to pour myself a drink the moment we arrive.

I don’t, because that will _definitely_ fuck with my coherence. _I know exactly what I need to say and exactly how I need to say it._ _Toxic perfectionism at its finest_. I grumble, leaning against the wall by the front door - Phil doesn’t usually show up until after I do, and this will force me in his path, so I can’t chicken out. _Assuming I don’t chicken out before he shows up…_

For the first fifteen minutes, I’m moderately calm, arms crossed and tapping my foot a bit along with the music. But a half hour slides by, and then a _full_ hour, and I can’t keep still. _Maybe I missed him?_ Not likely. _Was he here before I got here?_ Anxious to do _something_ , I make a sweep of the house, but I don’t see the familiar black fringe towering above the rest of the crowd. 

_What if he doesn’t have to be here?_ The thought freezes me to the spot, and I suck in a breath; apparently, the universe didn’t force me to stay for the duration of my class earlier - it’s possible he doesn’t even _have_ to attend the party. _Shit_ \- I have no clue where to find him, unless I wait for class tomorrow, but I’m already pushing my limits for not bailing on this whole idea; I’m afraid if I don’t get the words out of my chest soon, they’ll just stick there forever.

After another, more thorough, search of the party turns up no Phil, I rush outside. _Maybe he’s at the diner, still?_ I’m just spinning toward the direction of the diner when an unusually bright red shirt catches my attention, and I all but sprint across the grass.

“Oh thank _fuck_ , I thought you weren’t going to show!” The words come out breathy, and I only realize I’m gripping Phil’s shoulder when I manage to look up from the pavement. I draw back, mumbling an apology.

“It’s fine,” Phil’s frowning, just slightly, “are you-”

“No! I mean, well, I don’t know what you were about to ask, but...just, can I say something first?” I know it’s rude to interrupt, but if I don’t say everything _right now_ , I’m terrified it’ll never see the light of day. Phil’s eyes go wide, but he nods after a second; suddenly, the world clicks into crystal clear focus around me, and I take a shaky breath. _Here goes nothing. Everything._

“Okay, so, first, just... _sorry_. Like, I can’t possibly explain how _sorry_ I am, it was fully my fault about your research grant, and I just-” Phil’s just _staring_ , and it makes me pause. _Words._ I do my best to picture the garbled writing on my paper from earlier. “Right. But that’s not good enough, so please tell me how I can fix it? I don’t know if they’ll let me remove the review, but I could talk to someone?” I offer, but Phil just blinks; the words are spilling off my tongue before I can stop them.

“And second, uh, is more...about me,” a deep breath, shaky, and I bite my lip. “I need help. I _know,_ ” I hold up a hand, already prepared for an objection that doesn’t actually come, “I said that last semester and then blamed you for ‘not helping enough’ and making me fail.” I had sat in his office hours while he tried to explain things, absorbing nothing and using none of the resources he gave me, and I somehow had the audacity to claim it was his fault when I failed. “But I mean it this time. I’m a day into the semester,” Phil chuckles at my word choice, but I push on, “yeah, I know, but I also know I’m shit unless someone holds me accountable. So please, I need your help to hold me accountable.” I let silence take over, filling the space between these words and my next.

But Phil doesn’t let me get them out, holding up a hand, and I let the last thing I wanted to say die on my tongue. _Maybe...now’s not the best time?_ I can feel it curling inward and settling in a pit in my stomach; before, it was light, now it’s pulling at my chest. _Tomorrow, I’ll tell him how I feel tomorrow. I’ve talked enough for today, I should let him have his piece._

“I accept your apology, and I accept your help, and I accept that you _need_ help, and I accept your offer of letting me help you,” Phil beams, clearly pleased with the way he’s phrased his response. I can’t help it - despite the weight in my gut, I smile back. _It’s infectious._ “We can talk about it tomorrow, okay?” I wince at the word ‘tomorrow’, but smooth my expression and nod.

“Do you, uh, want to head in?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the party now in full swing. Phil pulls a look of serious contemplation, going so far as to tap at his chin and squint for a few long moments, then breaks out into an expression I can only describe as _mischievous_.

“I have a much better idea!” I try not to trip over my own feet when Phil grabs my hand, dragging me back in the direction he came from; his hand is only in mine for a moment - just long enough to get me moving - but the warmth hits my system like a fireball, spreading up my chest and neck and heating my cheeks. 

“Where are we going?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me. We’ve been walking for several minutes, but Phil’s been suspiciously quiet, just grinning and staring off into the distance - his eyes are well focused, though, like he can actually see our destination, and I can’t stop watching him. Until, of course, he looks over at me. I duck my head, shoving my hands into my pockets just to have something to do.

“You’ll see,” he elongates the vowels, teasing laced through his tone, and I _want_ to frown but I just end up smirking. _He’s too adorable for his own good._ The thought jumps up from my throat and I purse my lips to keep it from slipping out into the air. _Tomorrow, I’ll say something tomorrow._

As we walk, I trail just slightly behind Phil; to him, it probably seems like I’m just letting him take the lead, but I’m using the position to study him in a way I’d never feel comfortable doing with him watching. He’s all angles, but in the softest way - sharp features, but if I were to trail a finger along his jaw, I know it wouldn’t hurt. His hair is a strange match - though I can’t see from here, I know it cuts a clean line across his forehead, but I think it’d be soft if I ran my hand through it.

Hell, I want to do all that and quite a bit more, but my fantasies are stolen from my head when Phil grabs my hand again; I have to wonder if my daydreaming is leaking into the real world, because he doesn’t let go this time. 

“Over here,” his voice is low but excited - I realize Phil’s pulled me off the pavement and we’re walking across the grassy expanse of the quad. I’ve been so distracted watching him that I’m only just registering the fact that we’ve gone most of the way across campus. _It felt like less than five minutes, jesus._ I shake my head, then try my best to focus on our surroundings, on the grass under my feet, on anything aside from Phil.

He’s not making it easy. 

Once we reach the middle of the quad, he drops down to the ground and drags me with him. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happened, I’m laying beside him and staring up at the night sky. Our arms are dangerously close, given that he hasn’t let go of my hand, and I feel unusually warm despite the chill in the air.

“Isn’t this so cool?” I turn my head to find Phil fixated on the sky, smiling widely. “It’s the best place on campus to see the stars, cause there’s not as much light,” he sounds like a child, fascinated by space and full of wonder. It’s breathtaking. 

“Yeah, it’s...definitely something,” I exhale the words, afraid to give them the full weight of my normal voice. Every inch of my skin is tingling and even though nothing’s touching but our hands, I feel like I’m on fire. 

“I get the idea that you’re a bit cynical to believe in anything like this,” Phil turns toward me, and I feel like a deer in headlights, frozen by blue eyes lit only with moonlight. “But I think everything happens for a reason, you know?” He turns back to the faint smattering of stars in the sky, and my tense muscles relax. 

“You’re right,” I huff out a laugh when he raises an eyebrow, still looking up, “I definitely don’t believe in that kind of stuff. I mean, ‘the world works in mysterious ways’?” I hold my free hand up to make air quotes. “No, I don’t believe anything that hasn’t been proven by science,” my arm falls back to my side.

“I bet you’re having a wild time trying to make sense of all _this_ , then,” Phil gestures ambiguously, then breaks out in laughter; I can’t help it, I’m soon joining him. For some reason, it turns into one of _those_ laughs, racking my body and pulling everything in on itself until I’m on my side and curled around the space where Phil’s hand is holding mine. 

“Yeah,” I manage to speak after several deep breaths, “I’ve decided to suspend my belief system for the sake of preserving my sanity,” I chuckle, tamping down on the sound before it becomes another full-blown laughing fit. Silence falls around us like a blanket, warm and comforting, and I allow my eyes to drift shut; without the distraction of sight, the world comes into a completely different focus: blades of grass tickle my cheek, the slightest hint of dampness soaks into my jeans at my hip, and Phil starts to rub my thumb gently. 

At first, the movement startles me, and I’m hyperfocused on the new sensation, but it quickly fades into a calming background feeling, like white noise for my body. In the moment before I fall asleep, it hits me that _okay, maybe things do happen for a reason._


	7. A better Day 1, I hope

When I wake, I'm curled up on my side and my hand grasps at empty air, the ghost of Phil's thumb tracing across mine. _Oh._ I pull my knees up to my chest and shove my face in my pillow, lips stretching into a wide smile as the events from last night flood back in. I can feel doubts squirming around the edges of my thoughts, but I hold them at bay and just enjoy the butterflies in my stomach for a while longer.

Then my alarm rings, and I manage to convince my muscles to move, to switch it off, then stand and stretch. With a heavy exhale, I collect my shower things and set off down the hall - by the time I’m stood under the rush of warm water, I’m already smiling again; I can’t get the night before off my mind.

I bite my lip on the way back to my room, moving as quietly as I’m able - I know Chris is fast asleep in the lounge, but I _definitely_ don’t want to wake him, to have him see me and get any ideas about why I’m grinning like an idiot. 

Fortunately, I make it back without incident, and set myself to deciding what to wear for the day. In a strange bout of confidence, I tug on my black ripped skinny jeans; the image of Phil wearing them the other day swims behind my eyes, and I can feel heat creep up my cheeks. I pull out a simple button down, not the yellow one he’d worn but a gray and black one that suits my style a little more. 

By the time I scan my reflection, I’m pleased to find my cheeks are barely flushed. My hair is still drying, but there’s nothing to be done about it now, as I know it won’t be long before Chris comes to bother me about heading to class. I run a hand through the damp curls, frustrated when I realize I’m shaking. _Am I really that nervous? Anxious? Excited?_ I can’t pinpoint the feeling - maybe a combination of all of the above - but I know it stems from seeing Phil in less than ten minutes.

When a knock startles me from my thoughts, I glance once more in the mirror before going to pull the door open. 

“Hey, Dan,” Phil’s grinning at me, and my eyes go wide - my immediate instinct is to slam the door shut, which is silly, but there’s a buzzing in my chest and I’m not sure I can even converse with him right now. _What is wrong with me?_ I realize my mouth is parted, like I’m about to say something, so I clamp it shut. Then open it again.

“Hi,” I squeak out, cursing my awkwardness. _Why is this so much harder than burying my feelings and pretending they don’t exist?_ Phil’s smile turns into a smirk, and my cheeks flush again.

“I thought I might walk with you to class?” He tilts his head, lifting his eyebrows - it’s not a question, but his voice lilts up like it is, so I nod and slip out the door.

“Oi- oh,” as soon as I hear the voice, I grimace - Chris must be awake, which means I’m in for a repeat of the last time Phil came to my door. Sure enough, I get a suggestive wink and a thumbs-up from where he’s reclined on the couch, and I do my best to look angry or annoyed or anything _other_ than completely flustered. 

“So…” Phil starts once we’re out of the building. I’m eternally grateful for the cool breeze in the air as it brushes my warm cheeks. “We should talk,” I swallow thickly, nodding. _Yes, today, I said I’d tell you today. And I will._ My lips are ready, poised to say the words, but Phil just continues. “I was thinking you could talk to the heads of the research grant, I think that’ll help, even if you can’t take the review down. And we should set up some time for tutoring, properly,” my mouth dries up, and I lick the words off my lips to swallow them back down. 

“Yeah,” I say. “ _That’s not what I want to talk about_ ,” I don’t say. Phil’s eyes slide sideways, and I offer a tight smile. He just beams back at me, bright as the sun, and I turn away with a soft sigh. _Coward._ We walk the rest of the way in silence, which suffocates me but seems not to bother him in the slightest. 

We slide into our seats in the front row, and Phil immediately pulls out a piece of paper from his notebook.

**You okay?**

I frown at the message as he slides it over to my desk. _No, I am definitely not._ I grab the pen.

_Fine_

I pass it back, shrugging when he gives me a disbelieving look. 

**You’re lying, but you don’t have to tell me**

A pang shoots through my chest, aching with the words I really _do_ want to tell him.

_Later?_

It’s the closest I can come to being honest - I don’t want to write everything in my head down on paper, it wouldn’t feel the same. Phil doesn’t say anything back, but he bumps my leg with his knee and smiles at me. My heart fucking melts in my chest.

We make it through the rest of class in complete silence - well, _almost_. Phil’s got us playing tic-tac-toe, and he keeps drawing connections between his Os that aren’t even in a row.

_That doesn’t count!_

I scribble below the most recent board, where he’s drawn a squiggle between three random unconnected boxes and set his pen down with a triumphant smile. But he only offers an exaggerated shrug at my comment, and I have to cough to cover the giggle that escapes my throat. 

Once the professor’s finished lecturing, Phil stuffs his notebook back in his bag and we follow the rest of the students out of the auditorium and into the fresh air. At the junction in the pavement, where I’d normally turn right and head off to my dorm, Phil pauses.

“So-”

“Would-”

We both huff out a laugh, then he gestures at me.

“Oh, I was just gonna say, would you mind if I hung out with you until my next class?” Phil’s brows arch up his forehead, and I bite my lip. _Maybe that was too much, too quickly._ “I mean, if you don’t-”

“No, yeah, I mean, no I wouldn’t mind,” he’s smiling like I put the stars in the sky, a look I _definitely_ don’t deserve, so I drop my gaze to the ground as we head off toward the communications building.

“You were gonna say something, too?” I rub at the hem of my shirt, feeling self-conscious and needing some kind of distraction.

“Oh, it was nothing, don’t worry,” he flashes me another bright grin, which shuts me up, and I spend the next few minutes trying to pretend he hasn’t affected me _that_ much. When thinking about him only serves to turn my thoughts down a road I decide I definitely _shouldn’t_ follow right now, I blink hard and clear my throat.

“So, uh, aside from research and TAing, and I guess parties and hanging out with friends,” I realize I’m rambling, but I need to get my mind off Phil’s face, eyes, lips...“what all do you do in your free time? I guess, stargazing, too,” I tack on at the end, then bite my lip. _Shouldn’t have brought that up._ But he only chuckles.

“Yeah, I think I might be doing more of that. I quite enjoyed it,” I dare a glance in his direction to find him smirking at me, and I quickly avert my gaze back to the safety of my feet. _Did he mean last night? Fuck._ “That about sums it up, though. Browse the internet, I guess?” his shoulder bumps mine. “What about you, then? What does Dan Howell do in his spare time?”

“Oh, uh, I mean, you know,” I shrug - he _does_ know. “Same as I’ve been doing, I guess,” _I couldn’t have some cool, interesting hobby, could I?_ “Video games!” I blurt out, shaking my head at how I managed to forget that. _Not ‘cool’ exactly, but at least it’s something._

“Wait!” Phil pulls me to a stop, hands landing on my shoulders, and I’m met with a bright blue gaze. “ _Please_ tell me you play Mario Kart?” I watch his eyes flick between mine, amusement creeping its way up my own features.

“I don’t play,” I watch his face fall, but it’s worth it. “I _dominate_ ,” I accent it with a wicked grin, pleased to find his face shifts to match mine.

“Big words, Danny boy, but I’ll be the judge of that!” He spins so we’re walking again, though I could swear we’ve drifted closer than before. “After your class, before the party, I challenge you to a Mario Kart duel at my place.” 

“Oh, you’re _on_ ,” I’m still grinning by the time we get to the building, but I try to calm my racing heart as we head down to the basement lab. Which doesn’t work very well, because _he invited me to his place_ and _I have to tell him how I feel_ and _did he like laying with me under the stars_ keep whirring around in my head, and it only sends my heart soaring.

“If memory serves,” Phil throws a sarcastic grin over his shoulder, “we’ve only got a couple minutes before my grandma calls,” he plops down in one of the chairs, setting his phone out on the desk - I suck in a breath. _Phil’s grandma, that’s the lady on the bus._ I turn, chewing at my lip. _Should I say something?_

The phone rings, startling us both, and Phil shrugs at me.

“I’m, uh, do you want some coffee?” I need to think for a minute, away from the cause of my nerves. He nods, already lifting the phone to his ear. I catch a low ‘hey, grandma’ before I slip out of the lab. As the door shuts behind me, I step out into the corridor and lean heavily against the nearest wall.

 _Okay, later today, I’ll tell him how I feel later. For sure._ I take a deep breath, focusing on the task I’ve assigned myself. _Coffee. That’s easy_. Except I’ve just realized I have no idea how Phil takes his coffee. Pushing off the wall, I take a step toward the door, reaching for the handle. 

Which is conveniently locked, via keypad. _Shit._ I’ll already have to bother him once I return with the coffee, since I don’t know the code, and it would be rude to interrupt his conversation twice...my hand falls to my side, and I spin from the door toward the stairs. _I can just...guess what he wants?_ I frown, but I’m too anxious to go back now. 

The closest cafe is in a building about five minutes away, though I walk slowly, and it probably takes me ten minutes to get there; I spend the time in a vicious cycle of thinking way too hard about how to tell Phil I’m majorly crushing on him and chastising myself for overthinking things. Every so often, an image of Phil flashes in my head - at first, it’s things I’ve seen, like his bright blue eyes or how he looks when he’s laughing. They soon lose their tame nature, and I can’t get the idea of his hands, his lips, his tongue off my mind. 

I’m standing in line, spacing out, when the barista summons me with a brisk ‘next’, and I scan quickly through the offerings before deciding on a caramel macchiato for myself. 

“Uh, make that two, I guess?” I twist my lips, hoping the drink is popular enough that Phil will like it as well. I hand over some cash and take my change on auto-pilot; all I can think about is Phil’s lips on the rim of a cup, then on my lips, and _fuck_ I would love the taste of caramel and coffee from his tongue.

 _Stop. Now._ I do my best to reign in my wayward thoughts, tapping my foot as I wait for our order in the hopes of keeping my attention in the real world. Once I have both cups in hand, I let the acute warmth focus me, and I try my best to think of nothing other than walking and holding the coffee and calming my anxious nerves.

I’ve finished a good half of my drink by the time I get to the lab, desperate for anything that might shut my head up; it doesn’t, sugar and caffeine a dangerous mixture that leaves me more on edge than I was before, but I take a few deep breaths to try to relax before awkwardly bumping my elbow against the wooden door in a sad imitation of a regular knock. 

There’s no response for a moment, then another, and I’m about to try again when the door swings inward, held open by the object of the fantasies running haywire in my head. He’s still got his phone up to his ear, so I shove the arm holding his drink out toward him. I step inside before I can spend too long staring at the amused smile that plays across his lips when he takes it.

“Caramel macchiato, hope that’s alright?” I keep my voice low, following him as he takes slow steps back toward his desk. I take his grin and long sip of the drink as a positive response, until he nearly spits it out all over his computer.

“Yeah- I mean, yeah, but-” he coughs, glancing between me and the space in front of him, eyebrows skyrocketing. _Shit, was there something wrong with the coffee?_ I frown, but he’s still trying to speak. “I, uh, sure, I’ll tell him, uh, okay, love you too,” I check my own phone when he hangs up - his call is over far earlier than it was the last time. 

“Uh...this is going to sound very _out there_ , but my grandma wanted to tell you that you need to stop overthinking things?” His eyes keep flicking back and forth between me and his phone, but I’m rooted to the spot. _How did she know it was me, and that I was here?_

 _She heard my voice, she must’ve just recognized it from the other-_ I swallow thickly. _To her, there hasn’t_ been _another day._ I sit heavily in the nearest chair - a rolling one, so my momentum scoots me several feet across the floor. _Maybe Phil was talking about me, mentioned my name, said I was here._ I finally feel myself breathing, blinking. _The universe has just programmed her to tell me not to overthink so much._ I let out a half-breath-half-laugh: I’m _once again_ overthinking that comment.

“She also said we should take a break, though I’m not sure what she thought we were up to that we even needed a-” Phil’s eyes go wide, then he’s up from his chair and bouncing on his toes. “Dan Dan Dan Dan Dan Dan Da-” I stare over from my spot, mouth half open and brows arched. 

“Yes, Phil?” I almost wish he hadn’t stopped on seeing my look, I like hearing him say my name. _Fuck, I wonder what he’d sound like during-_ _nope, abort, not right now_. I inhale slowly, trying to keep my face cool. 

“ _We have to go play Mario Kart now!_ ” I huff out a laugh at his deduction. “She’s psychic, it makes perfect sense! We were gonna play later, but she’s saying we have to go _now!_ ” He doesn’t wait for my acknowledgment, shoving his phone in his pocket and grabbing his coffee. 

With his free hand, he grabs me, dragging me up from the chair and toward the door. _No point trying to stop the blush on my cheeks now, I guess._ We’re outside a few moments later, heading off in what I assume to be the direction of his place. His hand leaves mine, and it feels strangely empty, so I curl it around the fading warmth of my almost-finished coffee. 

“By the way, caramel macchiato, good choice,” he nudges me, taking a sip from his cup and smiling. _God, he’s gorgeous when he’s smiling like that._ I hum, unsure what to say and hoping that’ll suffice as a response. We walk in silence after that, my thoughts well occupied just appreciating Phil’s presence - in spite of the way he makes my heart race, I feel different around him. _Like coming home._

My drink is soon empty, and I toss the cup in the nearest trash can. Again, I find myself wanting something to do with my hands, trying to let them just hang naturally at my sides but feeling posed and unnatural. 

Phil must’ve inherited his grandma’s psychic abilities, because it’s only a moment before my hand is once again enveloped in warmth. I cast a shy glance in his direction, but he’s sipping his coffee just as leisurely as before, so I don’t pull away. I let myself just _exist_ for a minute. _I could get used to this._ I choke out a laugh, then - we’re kind of stuck in this infinite loop, so I probably _will_ get used to it. _As long as I can get the courage to actually tell him how I feel._ His hand in mine, the fact that _he_ put it there, it’s a shot of confidence pushing me in the right direction.

“Is this okay?” I realize too late that Phil could’ve misinterpreted my strange half-chuckle, and he’s frowning at me, grip loosening.

“No! I mean,” I hold a little tighter, “I don’t mind, you don’t have to let go,” the words tumble out, and a blush creeps up my cheeks when his frown softens into a smile. 

“Unfortunately for us both,” his head tilts, and he pulls me down a smaller sidewalk up to an apartment building, “I do, actually. This is me,” he squeezes my hand once before dropping it, fishing in his pocket and producing a set of keys. Once inside, we head up the stairs - after the third floor, my breathing’s embarrassingly fast.

“You didn’t say we’d be doing _cardio_ ,” I groan, clinging to the railing and using it to drag myself up; Phil chuckles in front of me - admittedly, I’ve had a fantastic view of his ass during the hike, so my complaining isn’t as genuine as I let on.

“We’re here, calm down, princess,” he’s already unlocking the door when I get to the landing, exaggerating my huffs of breath and leaning my hands on my knees.

“ _Ugh,_ thank _god_ , I was _dying_ ,” I whine simply because I can, then look up to see Phil peeking over his shoulder before pushing the door open.

“I was wrong, you’re not a princess, you’re a _drama queen_ ,” he laughs, and I straighten and follow him inside. _I made him laugh_. It’s a childishly simple thought, but I’m grinning. “Welcome to my humble abode,” Phil gestures around the space widely, a simple studio apartment, but it’s easily twice the size of my dorm room, so I’m impressed.

“You live by yourself?” I ask when the single bed catches my eye - the room is semi-divided by a couch, and a kitchen and table sit off to the side, with the back half of the space looking to be an approximation of a bedroom.

“Yeah, just me, myself, and I - and my plants!” Phil’s hand is back in mine, dragging me around the space to introduce me to each one, all in varying states of distress. By the time we get to the third withered fern, I cover my mouth to hide a giggle.

“Hey! Don’t laugh, I just sometimes forget to water them…” his eyes go wide, then he’s in the kitchen filling a large vase with water from the sink. “Hold on, just one second, then we can get to the game. Go ahead and turn everything on,” he points at the system and TV, and I set to getting things started, smirking as I do.

\----------------------

We had paused after the first round, when I was sure I’d somehow be forced to go to the first half of my media class, but we waited for ten minutes and I still hadn’t been summoned in some way, so we just sat back down and kept at it. After several rounds of me doing _exactly_ as promised and completely obliterating Phil, he proposes some higher stakes.

“Okay, next round, whoever wins gets to make the other do whatever they want,” I balk at him - he’s sat with his arms crossed on the floor in front of the TV, controller thrown down in frustration after I narrowly beat him in the final lap. 

“Are you sure you want to do that? I mean, I’ve won the last…” I count on my hands, more for the effect than because I actually forgot, “oh right, I won _all of them_ ,” I lift an eyebrow at him - I’m on the floor as well, cross-legged and leaned back against the base of the couch. 

“Yes! Because I have a good feeling about the next one,” he’s grinning, picking up the controller and starting the next circuit without waiting for me.

“Hey! Not fair, you’re cheating.” I laugh, though, at the mischievous smirk he tosses my way as the countdown begins. Shockingly, I win the next three maps, leaving him no chance to even tie the tournament; Phil bites at the handle on his controller as I lean back triumphantly. “Well, well, well, Philly, looks like I’m every bit the champion I claimed to be,” I grin over at him, though my mind is now reeling at the implications - I can ask him to do _whatever I want_. 

_Kiss me._ It’s my first thought, and it almost rolls off my tongue, followed briefly by _fuck me_ before I shut my brain off. Phil doesn’t seem to notice the sudden blush I can feel on my cheeks.

“Wait, wait, hold on, I have a new proposition,” he actually holds his hands out, like I’m planning on going somewhere. I can’t keep my chuckle in, and it comes out on a breath.

“Phil, you can’t just change the rules because you’ve lost,” I shake my head, looking up to the ceiling. “Well, go on then, what’s your ‘proposition’?” I add some air quotes.

“ _All or nothing_ ,” his voice drops low, dramatic, then returns to his usual bright tone. “Whoever wins the next round wins the whole game!” I drop my mouth open, intent on saying _something_ , but all I can manage is an eye roll. _I can’t say no to him._

“ _Fine_ ,” I moan, “but I’m making your forfeit _twice_ as bad when you inevitably lose.” It’s a hollow warning - I still have no idea what I want him to do. _Would asking him to kiss me be too much?_ Because I’m feeling generous - and very distracted by the prospects of winning - I let him pick the map, and I manage to botch the start of the race. 

“Cheater!” I nudge him with my shoulder, hoping to throw him off, but he only bumps me back until we’re both trying to get the other to spin out or fall off the edge. I’m finally ahead - eleventh, but he’s in twelfth - and the finish line is coming up. _I can win!_ I accelerate, doing my best to keep my car steady with Phil elbowing me every other second. _Shit, I can win..._ I still have no idea what I would ask him to do - the only thing on my mind is his lips.

At the very last second, I let Phil’s nudge send me into an errant banana, and he pulls ahead and across the finish line. When I glance over, he’s thrown his hands in the air, squeezing his eyes shut and grinning. I only allow myself a moment of staring at the now-exposed patch of skin at his waist, across his stomach - _it’s not like he’s watching me_ \- before tearing my gaze away.

“ _Noooooooo!_ ” I do my best to feign exasperation and utter defeat, though I only feel relief. My controller falls from my hand, and I drop my head back against the couch. “Alright, go on, what’s my forfeit then,” I wave lazily in his direction - I’m expecting something silly, like ‘ _go kiss a cactus_ ’ or ‘ _stuff a whole giant marshmallow in your mouth_ ’ or ‘ _here, eat this flaming hot chili pepper_ ’; I wouldn’t put it past him to have all the requisite items for those forfeits readily available.

The thing about having expectations for people you barely know is that you’re usually wrong.

“That thing you didn’t want to talk about earlier,” I suck in a breath, eyes going wide. _Shit. But I did promise myself I’d tell him today. I told him I would. Sort of._ “Will you tell me what had you so _off_?” He doesn’t sound anything other than curious, like a soft variety of curiosity - he knows he’s pushing his limits and wants to see how far I’ll let him go. _And of course, I can’t say no to him…_

“I like you,” it comes out in a single breath, and I don’t dare look at Phil, but I’m surprised at the surety in my tone. _Well. There goes everything._ I’m tempted to shut my eyes, but I can sort of see him in my peripheral vision, and I need to watch his reaction the way I need to watch a train wreck.

“That’s all?” He looks baffled, but pleasantly so. “I mean, we’ve been hanging out, I kind of got the message that you didn’t hate me anymore,” I drop my jaw, turning fully toward him and blinking slowly. _Is he serious?_

“No, I _like_ you,” I lift my eyebrows waiting for the spark of recognition in his eyes. It doesn’t come. “Like, I properly _like_ you,” still nothing, and I smack my hand to my forehead. “I want to _kiss you_ , you fucking spoon,” I roll my eyes at him, heart leaping into my throat when I notice the slow grin that spreads across his face.

“Oh _thank god_ , I thought I was going to have to drag that admission out of you by force!” He’s thrown his head back laughing, leaned against the couch, and all I can do is stare, gears grinding in my head to try to catch up to the joke I’ve obviously missed.

“You...knew?” It hits like a freight train, and Phil manages to calm himself enough to wipe at one of his eyes. In a fit of embarrassment, I cross my arms and duck my head. _If he knew, why didn’t he say something? Clearly he doesn’t feel the same._

“Of course I knew, why do you think I kept holding your hand?” I peek up through the hair that’s fallen across my face. _Oh. I guess that makes sense._ Suddenly, his bright gaze turns dark, and I can tell he isn’t looking into my eyes anymore. Out of habit and nerves, I bite my lip - the current object of Phil’s focus.

“Do you have any idea…” he sets his controller aside, leaning across the space between us, “how badly…” his hand lands on my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip, “I wanted to be the one doing that?” His words, his touch, pull a small gasp from my throat, and I release my lip from between my teeth. “Can I?” His eyes flick up from my mouth, and I nod, unable to actually form words.

It’s a hurricane when his lips crash into mine, hard and fast and overwhelming, and I take a second to just let my relief wash over me. Then I dive in head first, reaching around to the back of Phil’s neck and dragging him closer. True to his word, he grins into my mouth and breaks the kiss to grab my lip between his teeth. He tugs it for a moment, then lets go, and I rush to close the sudden gap. _This is far better than I ever let myself imagine._

My hands wander his back, sliding lower until I feel the hem of his shirt - I don’t do anything, not yet, because I don’t know what this is or where it’s going or even what _time_ it is, but I allow my fingers to trail lightly across the bare skin right at the hemline. Phil matches my movements, but at my hips, and it sends a shiver up my spine. 

Before I realize it’s happening, he’s shifted his grip so he’s lifting me onto the couch behind us, then he settles gently on top of me, knees to either side of my thighs. At first, it’s soft and warm and his hands move up to cup my face. Then his lips leave mine, and I make a sound I’m definitely not proud of, disappointed until I feel them on my jaw, my neck, pausing to suck at the dip between my neck and shoulder. The next sound from my mouth is of an entirely different variety, and I can feel Phil grinning against my skin.

Slowly, he works his way back up to my lips, but I lose my patience when he lingers on my jaw, so I grab at his collar to pull his face level with mine. 

“Impatient, are we?” He mumbles, grinning, when I finally give him space to breathe. The air around us is warm and heavy, and his voice is low and rough, and I feel my hips buck up to meet his, desperate for friction. 

He laughs properly this time, sitting up so I can’t quite reach him, and I pout.

“ _Phil_ , that’s not _fair_ ,” I whine, tugging at his hips because _fuck_ I really want him right now. But he’s still as a statue, just giggling down at me with his stupid tongue stuck out of his stupid teeth until I finally give up, crossing my arms and staring up at him through squinted eyes.

“I propose a game-” Phil’s smirk drops from his face when my phone rings across the room - discarded in the kitchen after we’d given up worrying about me having to attend class. I grumble when he shifts to the side to let me up. _Maybe it’ll just stop ringing..._ when it doesn’t, and Phil nudges my arm, I shoot him a death glare and stand. After shifting my jeans to make things a little less uncomfortable - and giving Phil _another_ death glare for giggling at my predicament - I grab my phone from the counter.

“Hey, Peej, what’s-”

“ _Dude, you’re missing the party! You_ have _to come!_ ” I pull the phone from my ear to check the time, eyebrows arching when I notice it’s nearly ten. _Wow._ I glance over at Phil, who’s settled onto the couch and scrolling through his own phone.

“Yeah, okay, be there in a bit,” I offer, trying to keep the disappointment from my tone. _I very much liked the direction things were going here..._ well, until Phil had gotten to teasing me. _Fuck, even that was hot._

“ _Alright, come say hi when you get here!_ ” I grunt some kind of confirmation, then there’s a click on the other end and I stuff my phone in my pocket with an exasperated groan.

“ _Phil_ , this stupid universe is making me go to the party,” I’m still whining, head tilted back so I’m staring at the ceiling, and I don’t notice til the last second that he’s sneaking up to me - when his arms wrap around my waist, I may or may not let out a noise of surprise.

“Adorable,” he mumbles into my neck, and I do my best to be annoyed. “Well, let’s go then, we’ll make an appearance and then we can continue...the game,” Phil pulls back, smirking at the way my eyes go wide. _Yeah, we’re gonna pop in, say hello, and get the fuck back here as soon as humanly possible_. 

Resolved to accept my temporary fate, I’m shoving my feet in my shoes and dragging Phil out the door as quickly as I can manage.

“Come _on_ ,” I’m bouncing on my toes at the landing, waiting for him to lock up, rushing down the stairs as soon as he’s done. Once we get outside, though, he wraps an arm around my waist as we walk, and I can’t really remember why I was complaining to begin with. _Oh, right, I have to go pretend to care about this party before I can have Phil to myself._

The walk is farther than it is from my dorm, and I’m flip-flopping between being annoyed that it’s so far and being grateful for the amount of time I get to spend with Phil’s thumb rubbing circles across my hip. When we arrive, he holds the front door for me like a proper gentleman, and I roll my eyes even though I kind of like it.

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks, do you want to find your friends and let them know you’re here?” He’s already walking down the hall, and I’m about to scold myself for staring at his ass when I remember that _I can do that._ I’m not really sure what we are, but I am pretty sure his ass isn’t off limits. _The way things were going, I don’t know if_ anything _is off limits_. Heat pools in my gut, and I try to focus on finding Chris and PJ.

When I do, they’re across from the kitchen, toward the edge of the crowded room of dancers. 

“Hey, guys, sorry I’m late. Should’ve let you know, or something,” I mumble, but they brush it off and launch back into whatever conversation they were having before. They’re both making efforts to include me, but my answers are rather limited - I have a perfect view of Phil from here, and _maybe_ it’s a little obsessive, but I’m allowed to enjoy the view, right?

“Dan? Hello, earth to Dan?” PJ’s waving a hand in front of my face, and I realize they must’ve asked me something. 

“Hm? Sorry, got distracted,” I do my best to focus on the two, but they’re just staring. Finally, Chris turns toward the kitchen, where I notice Phil’s heading back across the room toward us. 

“Wait...were you- was that the guy from this morning?” I jolt in surprise, eyes going wide to match Chris’ bewildered expression, and my mouth gapes open and closed like a fish. 

“Uh…” is all I manage before Phil’s at my side, handing me a drink. “Chris, Peej, this is Phil.” I wave my free hand at Phil - Chris looks stunned, but PJ manages to snap out of his surprise enough for a bright grin and a wave. “Phil, Chris and PJ, good friends of mine,” I feel weird crossing this barrier between my friends and my...whatever Phil is, but he just smiles at them.

“Great to finally meet you,” he’s exceptionally polite, but something feels _off_. Because I’m still not used to it, it takes a moment to realize that Phil’s stood a bit far from me. His free hand is tucked into his pocket. _Oh._ I frown, unsure what to do - what if he doesn’t want anyone to know about...whatever we are? _Or maybe he thinks I don’t want them to know?_

“Dude,” PJ jumps in before I have time to worry much, “you should’ve just said you were with your boyfriend, we can respect that,” he glances at Chris, who just nods a confirmation. My face flushes with heat that has nothing to do with the alcohol, though I do take a long sip from my cup.

“Yeah, mate, don’t let us cock-block you, yeah?” Chris adds, and I swear my eyes roll back into my head and my cheeks melt off from embarrassment. 

“Guys, it’s not-” I’m trying to think of _anything_ I can say to salvage this situation, but Phil’s hand twines with mine and I shut up.

“Thanks, guys, be seeing you!” He’s dragging me toward the front door, and I barely manage a salute with my cup back toward Chris and PJ before we’re out on the lawn.

“ _What on earth was that!_ ” I try not to shout, but I’ve gone far past the realm of embarrassment into full-on mortification. “They’re going to think we’re fucking!” Phil hasn’t slowed, still pulling me across the grass and onto the pavement, heading in the direction of his apartment.

“Yep,” he just nods, smirking sideways at me. I let out a strangled, exasperated groan, deciding words can’t fully convey my current range of emotions. “Save it for the bedroom, yeah?” Phil quips, and I purse my lips because I _can’t fucking say anything_ or he’ll just say it again. _Shit. Wait. The bedroom?_

He must’ve noticed the exact moment my entire demeanor shifts, because he’s chuckling under his breath and tugging me closer - his hand releases mine and wraps around my waist, returning to the small circles on my hips. Because I still have a drink, I take a sip - sweet, overly so, just like the last time, and I grin. _I bet it’ll taste amazing on his tongue._

I occupy myself with all the possibilities the evening might hold until Phil’s unlocking the door to his flat - he hasn’t said a word the whole time, and it’s only serving to drive my imagination wild. I down the last of the alcohol from my cup just before he pushes the door open, feeling a warm buzz floating around in my head.

“So-” I almost get the full word out - I’m just stepping inside with the door closing behind me - when Phil’s lips crash into mine, backing me into the wall. It’s pure passion, his hand finding the small of my back and pulling me against him while his other hand props us up against the wall. I lose my grip on the now-empty cup, finding Phil’s shirt a much better thing to cling to.

 _I was right_ , the tiny thought worms through, _he tastes like sugar and fruity liquor and_ fuck _I could live on this alone_. Somehow - though I can’t exactly remember _how_ \- we end up on the couch. I think I’ve left my shoes somewhere along the way, along with my shirt - well, that had been Phil’s fault - and he’s laying on top of me and sucking hickeys into my neck, my shoulder, my chest, anywhere he can get to.

“Before we left,” Phil pauses his ministrations, and I lift my head to stare down at him. “I had an idea for a game…” 

Which is how, after several rounds of what Phil decided to call ‘strip Mario Kart’ and enough drinks to keep the match almost even, I end up entirely naked on the couch. Phil’s still got his boxers on.

“S’completely unfair!” I whine, “you took my shirt off before we started,” I cross my arms in a sad attempt to cover my chest - not that I don’t want Phil to see, more because I’m frustrated at having lost. _He doesn’t_ deserve _to see._ I don’t really get to complain for long, though - he scoops me up, hands cupping my ass, and I wrap my legs around his back.

“ _Phil!_ What are you-” I’m cut off when he drops me to the bed, crawling up my body and planting soft kisses on my exposed skin as he works his way up to my lips. He pauses there, hovering just an inch from me.

“I mean, we could always have a rematch,” he leans back, “I can go get dressed right now-” I pull him down fully on me, stealing his next words with my lips.

\---------------------

I can’t get the stupid grin off my face. I want to blame the amazing sex, but I’m afraid it’s the amazing _Phil_ with whom I had the amazing sex. Fuck, I damn well _know_ it was. The hot sex was just a bonus.

He’s got an arm wrapped around me, even though we’re both still a little sweaty and sticky, and I’ve buried my head in the crook of his shoulder. I know if he saw the fact that I’m still smiling, he’d tease me for it.

“Hey, Dan,” he shifts a little, and I groan into his neck. 

“Don’ wan’ move,” it comes out muffled, but I know he heard me. My lips are like three inches from his ear.

“That’s fine, I was just gonna see if you wanted to order some pizza or something. I mean, that was a _hell_ of a workout, you came _twice_ -” I poke him in the side, which only shuts him up in the sense that he stops talking to pokes me back, and we end up in a tickle fight until he pins me to the bed.

“Yeah, alright, fine, let’s get pizza,” I twist my lips, huffing out a breath. _I can’t believe I lost_ again _._ Phil smirks down at me, planting a chaste kiss on my lips before leaning back so I can sit up. When he remains firmly sat on my hips, I wiggle a few times and raise my eyebrows at him.

“Make me,” I didn’t ask him to get up, but challenge is laced through his tone and his smirk. I give him a few quick pokes, even though I know the outcome - in seconds, his hands are on my wrists, holding them to the mattress, and his lips are hovering an inch above mine.

“ _You_ were the one who wanted pizza,” I remind him, “so we should order it soon, before they-” I stop mid-thought, the words rolling over in my head. “Phil, get up _right now,_ ” he must sense the urgency in my voice, because he doesn’t hesitate this time. I practically fling myself off the bed and rush into the lounge area.

“Dan, is everything okay?” Phil must be behind me, though I don’t bother checking. After a frantic search, my hands close around my phone, and I stare at it with an air of terrifying reverence. I can hear Phil’s bare feet on the wooden floor as he approaches - slow, like I might startle if he moves too fast.

I turn the screen on, then drop the thing as if it burned my hand.

“Phil…” I spin carefully, scanning the gorgeous sight in front of me as if I’ve been blind my whole life and only just healed. Then I rush into his arms, wrapping my own around his waist and almost sobbing into his shoulder. “Phil, _it’s after midnight_.”


	8. Day 127 (Epilogue)

“ _Phil!_ ” I shove the door open, not looking as I toss my keys on the counter; I’m more focused on scanning the nearly-empty space around me - we’re almost finished packing up his stuff, since he has to be out next week. _Where’d he go? There’s literally nowhere he could be hiding._

I check the bathroom, but it’s as empty as everywhere else, so I collapse onto the bed - the only soft surface left in the apartment - in a huff. _He’s ruining my excitement!_

Fifteen minutes later, I hear the jiggling of the doorknob, and I sort my face into a proper pout. _Now I’m in a bad mood because you weren’t here to be excited with me._ I feel a little childish as I stand to meet him at the door, but I tend to be whiny around him. I usually get what I want.

“Dan- oh! Dan,” Phil’s grinning, a plastic bag in one hand and keys in the other, until he sees my face. “What is it?” My arms are crossed, and I squeeze my fists as a reminder that I’m meant to be _irritated_ right now, even though I’d suddenly much rather smile. _He’s a ray of fucking sunshine, literally all the time._

“You weren’t here when I got home,” I drop my eyes to the floor, aware it sounds clingy. “I had _news_!” I emphasize. My frown deepens when Phil’s only response is a giggle. I even try to keep frowning when he wraps me in his arms, but I just end up poking him in the side until he pulls away.

“I know I wasn’t,” he finally responds, “I had to pick up some things,” he points to the bag on the counter, and I give him a side glare before going to investigate.

“Chinese takeout and red wine?” I raise an eyebrow at him, but he just breaks into a wide grin. “What, is this your take on a romantic evening in?” I’m only half joking, because it actually sounds really nice.

“Well, we’re _celebrating_ , so yeah!” Now my brows scrunch together, and I rack my brain for any kind of anniversary or holiday. And come up short. Fortunately, Phil doesn’t seem to expect me to know what exactly we’re celebrating.

“Well...I was going to wait til I’d poured the wine, but I got the research grant!” I can hear how thrilled he is, though he’s trying to tone it down. He’s moved to unpack the food, so I come up behind him and hug him, laying my head against his back.

“That’s amazing! You absolutely deserve it,” I plant a kiss between his shoulder blades, feeling his hand trace over my arm before he returns to unpacking the takeout.

“Plus…” he pauses, clearly trying to imbue some drama into the tone, and I settle my chin on his shoulder. “ _You passed your class!_ ” He spins around, abandoning the food to wrap me in a tight hug.

“How did you-” _that was_ my _news, how did he…_

“I’m the TA for the course, silly,” he pecks me on the cheek. “And I’m _really_ proud of you,” this time, he punctuates it with a proper kiss, deep and slow and heart-melting. 

The rest of the evening passes with rice and noodles and dumplings, too much red wine, and one spontaneous game of strip Mario Kart that reminds me of that first night - in spite of all the frustration, the _hatred_ , the fear and doubt, somehow everything still worked out so that we could have a night like _this._

_Fuck, I’d relive that day a hundred times if it meant I still got Phil. It was more than worth it._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies! If you'd like, feel free to give it a cheeky [reblog on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/post/171052173087/what-day-is-it-finished)


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